Shackles
by LaCerise
Summary: Alternate Universe: Medieval Orient. And so everything has an ending, and this just so happened to be a joyous one. Marriage need not be troublesome, dull or miserable at all for the royal couple.
1. Shackles of Blood

**Shackles of Blood**

_As they always say, blood is thicker than water. Kinship is one of the most treasured emotions in the world, and it is priceless. One cannot choose family, but is instead born with it. And no matter how badly one is hurt by kinship, sooner or later, one finds the capacity in them to forgive the family member. For blood is blood. The same blood runs in the veins, and blood calls to blood._

_No matter what happens, blood will never change._

Sitting down precariously on a sturdy-looking branch, she paused to catch her breath.

The sounds of shuffling feet and clanking armour approached, and she hurriedly withdrew her dangling legs, keeping them close to her body. Not even daring to breathe lest it gave her away, she froze as she waited for the heavily-armoured guards to pass. The last thing she wanted was to be caught by the guards again. The beating she received last time left her so sore all over for an entire week that she could not even lie down without wincing.

When all was quiet again, she dared to peek through the weaving branches of the cherry tree, heavy with blossoms. The tree was thick with pink blossoms, and every wind sent a shower of fragrant petals fluttering to the ground. Everyone would be admiring the blossoms and the scent, but nobody would notice what was _in_ the tree.

It was excellent, a perfect hiding place for her.

Silently, she chuckled. It was surprising how the security in the royal palace itself was so lax.

Leaning against the tree branch, she inspected the jeweled box she had managed to pilfer from one of the rooms. The craftsmanship was intricate, and the box bore the royal seal. Carefully, she opened it the pearl clasp. Her heart sank as she flipped through the compartments. The box was not worth the effort she had taken to steal it. It contained an ivory comb, a small gold locket and a plain silver ring with the royal seal.

Since it would be suicide to sell the items with the royal seal, the only things of value in the box were the locket and the comb. Combined, they would possibly amount to 150 gold, which would enable her to buy today and tomorrow's food, and some much needed necessities at home.

Keeping as quiet as possible, she was about to leave when she spied a young man coming out of the palace into the courtyard, holding a sword in his hand. From the looks of it, he was going to practice his swordplay.

She could not resist the temptation to watch. Swords had always been a fascination for her, and she herself was skilled with swords, thanks to the harsh training her father had given her when she was young.

She glanced at her own shamshir, strapped to her belt, and felt a sense of envy as she strained her neck to see the elaborate details on the sword belonging to the young man. The hilt bore the royal seal, and the blade was sharp and deadly. Various jewels were inlaid into the hilt, and the scabbard was richly decorated.

The man himself wore simple but expensive-looking silk robes. His long red hair was loose and tumbled freely down his back. The buckle of his belt was made in the motif of the royal crest. He moved with a simple elegance and dignified air.

She had no idea who he was, but one thing she was sure of was that he was someone of importance and held in high regard in the royal family.

The man twirled the sword in his hand and thrust it into an imaginary target with a steady and sure hand. Turning around sharply, he blocked off a counter-attack from his imaginary partner and retaliated with a sharp slash of his own.

Mesmerised, she leant further to spy on his swordplay through the thick branches of the tree. For once, she hated the thickness of the blossoms: they blocked her view of him.

The crack that followed made her wince in shock and horror.

He heard it too, for he turned around immediately to face the tree, sword pointing outwards. "Who is it?"

She froze. Should she stay silent and make him think that it was the act of the wind? Or should she run, so that she would definitely be able to escape?

He walked closer. "Come out." His voice was firm, commanding. "I know you are there, show yourself."

She did not take the chance. In the blink of an eye, she leapt from the tree onto the wall and flipped over it to the safety of the other side, where he would never be able to catch her.

As much as she had wanted to continue watching him practicing with his sword, she would not risk getting caught and receiving another beating from one of the queen's personal bodyguards.

* * *

Sullenly, she stepped over the threshold of the cottage, weighing the few coins she now possessed in her coin pouch.

The shopkeeper was a grouch and a miser. His starting offer for the comb and the locket was a measly 50 gold, and after much haggling (and threats), he had grudgingly dropped 120 gold into her outstretched palm.

"He's probably going to sell them for twice that price," she muttered darkly under her breath.

"Hey Marisa!" She looked up to see her chief, Gerik, waving at her from where he was keeping accounts at the table.

She nodded her head in greeting to the various other occupants of the table. Tethys was a dancer by profession, and had frequented many lords' banquets as a guest performer of exotic dances. Her brother Ewan was sitting beside his sister, humming a song to himself. Saleh specialized in magic, and he doubled as Ewan's teacher and the master strategist.

"Any missions, Chief?" she asked.

Gerik shook his head. "Not now. Why? You need money urgently?"

She shrugged as she turned to leave. "I'll get by."

"Your father should stop gambling and do something for once!" Ewan blurted loudly. "He's gambling away all your money-" His voice died in a gurgles and muffled shouting as Tethys covered his mouth with her hand.

She stopped and turned around, blade in hand. "He's my father," she sighed with resignation. That was a fact that would never be changed, and as a daughter, she had the responsibility to taking care of her father and repaying his debts when necessary.

The was a tense silence for a long time. "Oh!" Gerik leapt up suddenly and fumbled around his pocket. "Here, the coin I owe you last time."

Waving, she slipped the coin into her pocket, turned around and made her exit.

* * *

_Home sweet home._ She thought sarcastically as she pushed open the wooden door of the dilapidated brick house. The originally white walls were now grey from accumulated dust and dirt, and the tiles on the roof were crumbling, causing leaks whenever it rained. The rooms were mostly bare from furnishing, the furniture either smashed during one of her father's gambling fits, or sold to pay off her father's debts or buy food and necessities.

"You're home." Her father coughed from one corner of the room, his shamshir in one hand, his other hand clutching the arm of the armchair like the talon of a hawk clutching its prey.

"_You're _home." She could not stop her sarcasm. Usually, her father left the house at dawn to gamble and returned at midnight with a pocketful of new debts. It was rare to see him lounging in the house in the afternoon. Casting a distasteful look at her father, she headed for her bedroom.

"Wait," her father commanded. "Sit." He indicated to the chair opposite his.

"I don't have money," she said forcefully, gritting her teeth. She was tired of him begging for money everyday he went home, emptying her pockets of _her_ earnings to go feed his gambling addiction.

"It's not about the money. Now sit." He commanded. He was a shadow of his former self, before he became a slave to gambling. The ferocity and sheer power of the days when he was one of the best swordmasters and most feared assassin in the world was now gone, replaced by a dull apathy and pathetic exterior.

She sank into the chair reluctantly. For the past five years, she had never had a conversation with her father that did not resolve around money. She looked at her father expectantly, waiting for the word 'money' to appear in his next sentence.

Her father cleared his throat. "I've found you a husband."

"What?" She was besieged by pure shock, pure horror and pure bewilderment. Why did he, of all things he could do with his free time, go and find her a _husband_? Why would she _want_ a husband at this age?

"No." She was firm. She did _not _want to get married.

"You don't have a choice." Her father waved his hand dismissively. "It's already been arranged."

"You could reject it now!" She cried.

"Don't you get it, girl?" He whirled around to face her and snarled. "It's not your choice! It's not mine either! Either I marry you to your new husband or both of us will be killed before we can step out of this house!"

Everything was so confusing, and so much information was streaming in, she blinked in utter confusion for 5 minutes, listening to her father's heavy breathing and the rapid beating of her own heart.

Then it clicked.

"You lost _me_ as a wager for one of your gambling sprees?" She was practically screaming. "Me? How could you do that? It's absurd! It's inhumane! What kind of a father are you?"

Hands placed on his knees, her father waited patiently for her to finish her ranting and calm down. "I did not have a choice," he said calmly, as though it was the most obvious and rational thing in the world. "My creditors threatened to kill both of us if we don't pay up soon. Then this man showed up and made a deal with me. If I win, he would pay all my debts and even give me more money. But if I lose…he said he wanted a wife, and so he asked me for your hand…"

"And you agreed!"

"I did not have a choice!" Her father leapt up in his seat. "Otherwise they would kill all of us! You remember Valter and Caellach? Do you think our feeble efforts would stand any chance against them and their mobs?"

She sank down, back into the chair, defeated. All she could see was darkness, swarming to enclose her, drowning her in a pool of despair, filling her with desperation and fear…

"Who is it?" The words left her lips as a feeble whisper.

"Valter and Caellach? Those are the two vile- Oh. You mean the guy?" Her father scratched his head lightly. "I think he's a lord or something, he was wearing really expensive stuff, and he had a lot of money at his disposal…don't worry, he looks quite alright, and he's young, around your age."

_That's not the point. _She thought coldly. _I'm getting married and I don't know who the groom is. How could you_ _marry someone you don't love?_

"When is the wedding?" She foresaw herself trapped in a cold empty palace, surrounded by gleaming gems and precious stones. The jewels mocked her, the servants despised her, her husband was cold. Panic seized her heart. Was this the fate that she had to endure?

"The man said something like…tomorrow morning?"

_Tomorrow morning? Tomorrow morning! _The words resounded in her head over and over again in a hollow whisper. Dread and fury had already consumed her. Numbness was the only sensation she felt. Darkness had already eclipsed her heart and blocked out all feelings of warmth.

_Please…let tomorrow morning not come…_

**Hello everybody! This story is set in alternate universe, namely the Orient during the Medievals. Although it is going to be mostly revolving around romance, there will be politics, war and other themes involved as well. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Read and review please!**

**And any suggestions would be warmly welcomed. Or you could suggest a plot development that you would like to see? I'll do my best to incorporate it into the story :D**

* * *


	2. Shackles of Oath

**Shackles of Oath**

_When something is written down in balck and white and it is a promise, there is little chance of ever breaking away from that promise. There are two ways out of this particularly restrictive and legal shackle: option one is to fulfill the promise, option two is to die, option three is to destroy the incriminating piece of evidence of the promise._

_But when one swears an oath to do something, most of the time it is a 'forever' thing, and there can be no going back once the oath is made..._

She could not sleep that night. As she lay in the darkness, all she could see was her own fear and despair. She pictured herself in the middle of a family portrait, standing behind a faceless man she did not love, surrounded by faceless children she did not care for, in a room where she had no attachment.

She rose as the first rays of the sun peeked through the old satin curtains of her bedroom window.

Dressing silently, she picked up her shamshir and walked out of the house, into the street. She would not take long, just a few minutes to say her farewells and her thanks. She would be back before the bridal procession came.

Leaping over a wall and onto a rooftop, she treaded lightly across the maze of tiles, careful to avoid any loose ones perching precariously on their edges. Running above ground was the most convenient way to maneuver across the city, if you knew the hidden technique to doing so of course. There were no blockages, no stalls, no narrow streets, and few people noticed you.

The city was beginning to stir. The first lights were being lit, and the animals were awakening.

She landed, graceful as a cat, before the cottage and rapped three times on the windowpane to the right of the cottage. That was their secret signal.

An eye peered out through the peephole cautiously, to confirm the identity of the visitor. The door promptly opened to reveal the surprised face of Saleh.

"Marisa? Why are you here so early? Is something wrong?" he asked.

Shaking her hand, she leaned through the door. "Is Chief here?" All she could see was a sleeping bundle on the bed that was most likely Ewan.

Saleh shook his head. "Tethys and Gerik are out on a night mission, and they have yet to return. I'm expecting them to be finishing their job soon and reporting back here in 3 hours. Is anything the matter?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "My father lost a gamble yesterday and I was the wager. He betrothed me to a man who agreed to pay off his creditors. I'm getting married, today, in the morning."

Saleh's eyes widened as he took in her words. Momentarily, he was speechless. "But that's insane! He cannot sell his own flesh and blood to save his own skin That's barbaric! We'll pay off your creditors, Gerik will never allow you to be sold in exchange for a bunch of gambling debts!"

"Master Saleh," she interrupted his indignant tirade. "My father owes the creditors a huge sum. It is _impossible_ for any of us to pay it off."

"You could run away…" he suggested.

"He's my father," she sighed. "Besides, he owes Valter, and I do not expect us to be able to outrun that man. He has comrades hiding everywhere."

Saleh lapsed into a gloomy silence. She knew, from past experience, that he was formulating some form of an elaborate escape plan. She could almost hear the bogs in his brains whirling as he concocted another daredevil strategy.

"It's okay Master Saleh," she attempted a small smile. "I'm just here to say goodbye. Tell Chief thanks for the employment. Thank Tethys for her care. Thank you, you've helped me a lot too. And tell Ewan to study hard."

With a leap, she gripped the wall and hoisted herself up. Clambering nimbly onto a roof, she disappeared amongst the still dark backdrop of the city.

The last thing she needed to do was to implicate more people in this mess her father had dragged the two of them into.

* * *

By the time she reached the front door, the contingent had already arrived. Horses pawed the ground of their overgrown courtyard, the riders clad in heavy armour, standing still and eyeing her with curiosity.

Uneasy from the sheer amount of attention she was receiving, she walked briskly into the house, only to be accosted by two maidens dressed in heavy silk garments and their hair styled in the most fashionable manner.

"You're home." Her father sat in the same armchair as yesterday, same hand holding his shamshir, same hand gripping the armchair with a similar degree of ferocity and forcefulness.

In the other armchair, sat a regal-looking lady in her sixties, with snowy white hair pulled tightly into a bun. "You took your time." Her voice was sharp, like the talons of an eagle. "There is no time to waste. Go!"

In a blur of silk and satin, she was escorted into her room, which was already crammed full with various jeweled items. A dazzling array of gowns was spread out across her bed, many in colours that she had never even imagined herself to be wearing. An ivory comb (almost identical to the one she had stolen and sold), a gem-inlaid powder box, a silver palette of colours and a variety of jewellery was decked out on her table, along with a large gold-framed mirror.

For the next 4 hours, she was subjected to the torturous administrations of the handmaidens, who insisted vehemently on brushing out every minute tangle in her hair, powdering her face till it was white as paper, making her try on every one of the gowns and loading so many pieces of jewellery on her neck, wrists and hair that she felt her bones crack from the sheer weight of everything.

Neither would they tell her who was her husband-to-be.

* * *

She was escorted down again, like a dressed-up doll. It took all her tolerance to keep a straight face, for the shoes were digging into her ankles, the brocade was scratchy and her spine ached from keeping upright with the extra weights.

Nodding her approval, the old dame rose and fished an envelope from the recesses of her sleeve and handed it to her father. Waving her hand, she summoned two soldiers, who stepped forth carrying a large chest.

Under the greedy eyes of everyone present, she opened the chest and sifted her hand through the shimmering gold pieces, letting them fall back with a distinct clinking sound. "As promised," she said, closing the chest again.

* * *

She stared at the steaming cup of tea before her with mixed emotions. Her mother-in-law sat across her, long white fingers wrapped daintily around her enamel cup. "As I was saying, I really look forward to having you around, it's so lonely here sometimes, especially when…"

She could not help but smile hesitantly at her mother-in-law, Lady Ismaire. The lady was in her mid-forties, but her face gave no indication of her age. She moved with a quiet grace, and there was a permanent dignified air cloaking her. Beneath the regal exterior, she was compassionate, and truly kind towards her new daughter-in-law.

Of course, that did not stop her from smashing a teacup when she heard whom she had just married.

"_My dear, now that you're the wife of the Prince of Jehanna, you need to learn how to smile more."_

She cringed inwardly. What had her father done? Or rather, what had she done to deserve such a fate? To marry into the royal family of Jehanna! She resisted the impulse to throw herself down on the cushions and moan for her miserable fate.

How would she _ever_ escape from this?

* * *

Her heart was pounding rapidly in her chest. A cold trickle of sweat slid down her forehead.

It was not everyday that one saw their husband for the first time.

Trying the distract herself, she reclined against the soft couch. Holding a cushion in her hands, she traced a finger lazily along the embroidery. Someone, possibly a master artisan for the royal family, had embroidered the floral patterns and for a person like her, who could not sew a single stitch without accidentally causing injury to herself, the patterns were a remarkable feat.

"My mother made those." A foreign voice jolted her out of her reverie of cushions and needlework. She looked up to see a man coming in through the door, shutting it behind him.

Her eyes widened.

Long loose red hair, simple but elegant and rich robes, jeweled sword hanging from belt…he was that person in the courtyard that day!

_He's the prince?_ Seeing him eyeing her thoughtfully, she blushed and turned away. She was unused to such close scrutiny from members of the opposite gender.

"So you're Marisa, I presume?" He grinned at her.

She refrained from glaring at him, the man who took away her freedom and celibacy in one stroke.

He sat down carelessly beside her on the couch, adjusting his position so that he was facing her. "Hmm…guess it was worth every gold…" He mumbled, twirling a gold coin between his fingers.

"Why did you marry me?" The words left her mouth before she realized how absurd it sounded. _Like something cheesy and lame a pair of newlyweds utter to each other_, she thought distastefully.

Smirking, he shrugged. "Lady Luck, I suppose? Well, there was this man running around with thugs threatening to chop his head off and as the prince, I must intervene, right? But it was an insane sum, and I should deserve something for it all, and I do-did rather- need something."

"Like a wife?" She frowned. Most normal people needed money.

"Bulls-eye," he lounged on the couch, leaning his head against a cushion. "My mother and practically everyone else in this place has been nagging at me for the past decade about finding a wife. And while gambling with your father I heard someone remark that he had a fair daughter so…if I was going to randomly find a wife I might as well find someone beautiful right?" He winked at her casually.

"So we're married for life…" she sighed. Her future looked bleak, married to a gambling prince and trapped in the confinements of the palace till her death.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Not quite," he replied. "I just need a wife to become king. But after I am king, we could always divorce if you want…"

She was scandalized. He made marriage sound like one of his playthings, as though it was just another gamble for him. "I'm going to bed."

He sat up. "So early?" he cried, gesturing at the grandfather cloak in the corner of the room. Looking at her resolute expression, he sighed. "Door to your right is your room. The one to the left is mine."

"We aren't sharing a room?" Everyone always told her that newlyweds were to share a single room as husband and wife.

He smirked. "Do you want to?"

Turning an uncomfortable shade of crimson, she stood up.

"Oh, by the way, I'm Joshua," he extended his hand and winked. "But feel free to call me darling."

She pointedly ignored his hand and headed for her room.

"For that you owe me a morning kiss!" he shouted after her.

She slammed the door.

* * *

**Yup, and Marisa is thus (unhappily and unwillingly) married to Joshua. Oh, to think of Marisa as a princess ^^ She'll make a beautiful queen ^^**


	3. Shackles of Marriage

**Shackles of Marriage**

_Marriage is a sacred matrimonial union between two individuals, who have decided to come together and celebrate their love for the rest of their lives. However, not all marriages are based on love; and many are tied by politics, promises, parental ties, roots, inheritance, heritage, customs and culture. _

_Even within the concept of marriage itself, the couple are subjected to many constraints. Couples are expected to share a room, and continue the family tree. Couples are expected to work together for their common future. Everyone expects the couple to be happy and fulfill their duties to each other. Fidelity, responsibility and sensibility, those are the three rules that govern a marriage and allow the marriage to last._

She grimaced at her new wardrobe, flipping through the flimsy pieces of silk and satin robes in search of something that she could actually wear without tripping herself with every step she took. Her normal linen robes were deemed too coarse for royalty and had thus been confiscated.

Sighing, she took out a long black robe of silk and damask. She loved the feel of the soft satin gliding against her skin as she moved, but the sheer silkiness of the fabric made her uneasy and vulnerable. _What if it slipped off my shoulder?_

Shrugging off the nagging fear, she proceeded to the dining room. On opening the door, Queen Ismaire was already seated at her seat, silver spoon in hand, coffee in an enamel cup before her.

"Good morning, Marisa," the queen smiled. "Did you sleep well? I asked the chambermaids to give you the softest bedding we have here in the palace, made with swan down."

Acknowledging the comfortable quality of the blankets, she sat in the chair next to Queen Ismaire. A serving maid instantly placed a plate of scrambled eggs before her, along with a cup of coffee.

The food was good, the place was quiet, and the ambience was marvelous. Still, it was extremely unnerving to have fifty maidservants loitering around watching you consume your food, waiting to swoop down and replace your plate the second you completed your first course.

After scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns, as assortment of Danish pastries, she felt somewhat sick looking at the plate of chocolate croissants set before her. "How many courses…are there left?" she asked tentatively. Her abdomen felt as though it was going to burst, and the robe had become uncomfortably tight at the waist.

"Oh! You poor child!" The queen laughed. "You could have just eaten a little or refused the dish altogether instead of eating the entire thing-"

The door slammed open. "Morning mother." Joshua walked in. "Morning Marisa." Pausing beside her seat, he leant in. Before she could dodge, he kissed her on her cheek. "That was for refusing my handshake last night," he whispered so that only they could hear. Sitting down in the chair opposite hers, he took a long swig of water and winked at her. "So, what's for breakfast?"

* * *

She was sitting in the cherry tree again.

In merely two days, the tree had lost nearly all of its floral glory. The strong gust the night before had sent almost all of its flowers spinning to the ground, which was now carpeted by a thick layer of pink and white petals.

Glancing at the sea of pink petals beneath her, she smiled bitterly. Where she had once stole and pilfered from was now her home. Where she had once hid in to avoid capture was now where she hid in to get respite from the maidservants bustling about the palace.

Leaning her head against the tree branch, she closed her eyes. The images of Joshua waving his sword danced through her mind.

Unable to resist the temptation, she drew her own sword from its scabbard (one good thing about this palace was that swords were allowed to be worn) and felt the trusty weight of her sword in her hand once more. Her own shamshir was an heirloom from her great-grandmother, who had been a brilliant swordsman. The hilt was worn from use, and the silver had tarnished, but the blade remained sharp as ever, thanks to frequent grinding to maintain the edge.

Gathering momentum, she thrust the blade of the sword forward, then twisted so that she could thrust again in the opposite direction. _What did her father teach her again? _Parry, strike, parry, strike, twist and turn, stab and block, slash and defend…

The fallen flowers fluttered, roused by the disturbance she had created. She pranced lightly, minding her footwork with great care. Each stroke was delivered with force, each block was accompanied by a firm stance. Her wrist twisted and twirled, turning the blade in all directions, which would have given her an advantage in actual combat. Her footwork was going faster and faster…

Green leaves rained upon her, together with the remaining few petals that had resolutely remained on the trees. Her obscured vision did not impair her swordplay. As her father used to say, _even a blind man can be a master swordsman_. The most important thing there was the feel, and the love for swords. With the right touch, one would be able to attain the highest possible level of perfection together with their swords.

With a final twirl, she sheathed her shamshir in a fluid sweep. She was panting hard, but she had to admit that the practice was quite pleasant; she had never attempted swordplay in such long robes before. It was fortunate that she had not tripped through one of her twirls.

She turned towards the sound of polite applause.

"I didn't know you where skilled with swords," Joshua said admiringly, approaching her. His own sword swung from its scabbard, hanging from his belt.

"I didn't know you were watching," she replied. Secretly, she was glad, happy to show him that she was good and graceful at something.

"You have really nice, fluid movements," he remarked. "From where I was standing, it looked almost like you were dancing in the wind. It looked pretty good too, with your hair flying, your robes billowing, the petals spinning and the sword shining."

"Yours is…stronger, more defined," she closed her eyes, recounting what she had seen. "You use stronger strokes, and more force, but your footwork is less complex, and you prefer striking harder on your opponents than covering your own back…" She stopped. His crimson pupils were staring intently into hers, making her uncomfortably warm.

"What?" She felt the blood gushing to her cheeks, turning them pink.

"So you were the one watching me in that tree the day before…" he smirked. "No wonder I thought you looked strangely familiar when I saw you yesterday."

She felt her face grow hot at his comment. There was no refuting she had spied on him, and any attempts she made to clarify would only give him more amusement. So she took the wisest option and turned to leave.

"Hey wait!" He grasped her wrist tightly. "Leaving so soon?" He flashed her his trademark smirk. She glared at him. "Aren't you going to spar with me?"

She was taken aback by his invitation. "Spar…with you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I've been waiting a long time for someone skilled in swords to arrive in the palace. Mother's good, but she prefers staying in her study and doing paperwork. The soldiers are mostly trained in lances and magic, few master in swords. For those that do, I'm already sick of beating them every round."

He beat everyone else, did he? She could never resist a good challenge. Gerik had been her training buddy before this, but he was slow, and his techniques were focused on sheer strength rather than speed, and therefore it made him easy to defeat. As for Joshua…that would likely be another matter all together.

Nodding, she unsheathed her shamshir. "I'm ready."

* * *

He moved so quickly that momentarily she was shocked. She leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the blunt edge of his blade from slamming against her wrist. She cursed. He was fast, faster than what she had expected. _Definitely_ faster than Gerik.

He grinned at the sound of the soft swearing coming from her lips and looked up at her, winking. Wasting no time, he brought his blade down again where she had once stood, quick as a flash of lightning. His blade clashed with hers, causing a sharp metallic sound to resound through the courtyard.

She felt the strain as she gripped her sword with both her hands, but although she was already using all her strength, his sword was still pushing hers down dangerously. If she allowed her sword to slip further, the tip of her shamshir would point to the ground and he could easily whip his sword out and place it against her neck.

Swiftly, she slipped her sword from where it was trapped and did a backflip, so that she distanced herself from him. He did not fall as she had expected him to, but instead repositioned his sword and attacked her again.

_If she could not win him by strength and skill…it was time to show him what was so miraculous about speed._

With a light but firm step, she leapt atop the lower branches of the cherry tree, causing a shower of leaves and scanty blossoms. She saw him hesitate, then shrug and give chase up the tree. Faster and faster, she climbed the branches of the trees, leaping like a cat from branch to branch. When she reached the top, she looked back at him.

He was fast, but he was not fast enough to catch her.

Smirking slightly at her evident victory, she prepared herself to jump atop the brick palace wall and down back to the ground, leaving him still chasing her behind. When he was steadying himself when he landed, she would land the tip of her shamshir at his royal throat and claim her victory.

A hand firmly gripped her ankle, pulling her down. With a cry, she lost her footing and fell from the branch. She was falling…falling…A pair of hands of caught her in a steady grip in the nick of time, and she found herself staring into the smiling face of Joshua.

Like a practiced veteran, he landed softly amongst the fallen petals and placed her down gently. "I won," he said simply, smirking.

"You cheated," she accused angrily. For her, sword fighting was a thing of integrity; one should not resort to tricks to win the match. "Let go of me."

"No, swordplay is not just about swords, it's about quick thinking and intuition," he smirked wider, tightening his grip on her waist. "Come on, don't struggle. We're husband and wife. Why are you so reserved? Is it not right for a husband to touch his spouse?"

"We're husband and wife in name only." She narrowed her eyes and forced his hands off her. "I'm only your wife because my father owes you money."

He stared at her for a moment, then held his hands up in defeat. "Very well, if you say so." He turned to leave. "Oh, but for a woman, you spar pretty well. That's one less thing to teach you to prepare you for being a princess."

"Teach?" she sputtered. "What else is there?"

He turned back momentarily. "Horseback riding and…dancing…" The corners of his mouth were twitching violently. Evidently, he was on the verge of laughing. "I think I'm going to enjoy myself…See you later."

To her indignation, he walked off laughing loudly.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Phew! Another chapter done! Recently this author is having a pretty nice long carefree holiday, and thus can afford to invest time and energy to write the chapters of this fanfiction =D**

**I understand that for the last part, an Oriental princess was not exactly expected to dance, ride a horse or use a sword. Technically, all they had to do was try and bear children. But for the sake of the story, let's just assume that this is a very globalised Orient, where magic flies free, spies roam around and people waltz on marble wearing Venetian masks.**

**Cheerios. Remember to review!**


	4. Shackles of Intrigue

**Shackles of Intrigue**

_When one resides in a place of great prominence and wields great power, one can expect oneself to be constantly embroiled without the intrigues that take place. Political intrigues have various motives, ranging from increase in power to the invasion of another country. Various tools are used in the process as well. Love and lust are common ones whenever females are involved. Murder and assassination are easier ways that get rid of both the witness and the obstruction, creating a clear path for the conspirator to walk towards his goal._

_Whatever the case, one must always watch one's back. In a dark corridor, someone may just be lurking with a dagger in hand, ready to plunge it into another's back..._

"One two three four…" The instructor tapped his feet, clapping his hands as he counted the beats. "Spin and twirl! Spin and twirl! Spin and…alas! _Mademoiselle_ has failed once again…_tant pis_!"

What? Marisa gritted her teeth in a controlled fury. All she did was land slightly off-balance to the right, and he called that a failure? What about those attempts at the start of the lesson? What were those dance steps called then? Elephant ballet? Besides, the long swishing skirt of her robe would cover her feet, and no one would be able to see her messed-up footsteps.

"_Mademoiselle_ looks tired…perhaps _Mademoiselle_ would like a rest?" Gallantly, he took her hand and escorted her to the soft couch at the corner of the room. He poured a crystal glass of water and handed it to her with an exquisite bow.

She was uncomfortable with this display of outright chivalry and gallantry. It was _weird_…Taking a thoughtful sip of the water, she scrutinized her dance instructor critically.

He was tall and lean, with certainly a _very_ good figure. His long straight black hair fell down in a smooth cascade of shiny locks, almost like a shimmering ebony waterfall. His eyes were twin pools of darkness, the kind that a woman could easily lose and drown herself in. His complexion was darker than hers, but still relatively pale, perhaps even creamy. His nose was shaped to perfection and free from all freckles and other blemishes. When he smiled, his ruby lips parted to reveal perfectly white and pristine pearly teeth.

When he was concentrating on dancing, his fringe, a short but silky-looking lock of hair, would fall over and loosely cover his right eye. He would then toss his head in a smooth move, flipping the hair to the side.

She had nearly finished her water.

He was like perfection itself, but in her opinion, he seemed a little _too_ perfect, almost like a marble statue came to life, something unrealistic and imaginary, similar to a character from one of the fantasies. And the way he moved, although incredibly graceful and smooth, was…somewhat _gay_.

She choked painfully on her water and coughed. She certainly did not have any issues with people with varying sexual orientations. It was just that this particular dance instructor was a little too effeminate in his ways.

He was patting her back lightly, coaxing her to drink slowly, that they had plenty of time to wait for her to recover.

"_Mademoiselle_, you are _très charmante_," he purred, slowly rubbing her back. "Please drink slowly, we do not wish for such _une belle femme_ to meet mishap over drinking water."

As politely as she could, she thanked him, after shifting away from his hand on her back. This man was certainly making her very uncomfortable.

"Would_ mademoiselle_ resume previous dancing lesson?" He took her hand and gestured to the marble floor of the ballroom. "We still have _beaucoup_ to cover, and _Mademoiselle _needs to practice more."

He snapped his fingers, signaling the start of the lesson. Reclaiming her hand in his, he positioned his other hand on her waist, holding it in a slightly uncomfortable grip. "Ready _Mademoiselle_? And here we go…"

The dance was a gavotte, with a light springing step and a fast rhythm. Speed was one of the only things she was ever acquainted with in her life, and she soon caught on the dance, despite the ridiculous dress and the instructor's iron grip on her waist.

"_Oui, oui_! _Mademoiselle _is a natural at this!" He cried happily, prancing around the ballroom, dragging her along with him. She tried to smile a little, but his hold on her waist was making her feel rather constricted. It reminded her of one of those venomous inventions called the corset.

By the end of the dance, her feet hurt, her waist hurt, her head hurt, and she lounging as gracefully as she could on the couch catching her breath, while he waltzed around the ballroom by himself excitedly, performing a solo, all the while chanting something in his native tongue.

One thing she was glad of was that his hand was no longer on her waist like a clamp. Finally, her blood circulation could return to normal. For a moment there on the ballroom she was worried that she would faint due to lack of blood in the bottom half of her body. Had he been clamping her artery or something? She moaned as she gently rubbed her aching waist.

"Does _Mademoiselle_ hurt around the waist? _C'est possible _after a fast dance if one is a beginner at dancing…" While she was agonizing over her injuries sustained, he had silently crept over and sat himself next to her. "Does _Mademoiselle _need a massage around her waist? I am well-skilled in the arts of massage…" Without waiting for her consent, he had begun rolling up his sleeves, dark eyes glittering.

"It's alright," she hurriedly rose to place a same distance between the two of them. Never would she ever allow him to massage any part of her, even if she was so sore she could barely walk. The horrors of the previous dance had showed her quite enough. "I-"

She was abruptly pulled down, back onto the couch. A hand circled tightly around her waist, and her arms were swiftly pinned above her head, her legs pinned down onto the couch firmly.

She looked at him, shocked and horrified. A few strands of his loose black hair was caressing his face, and one of his hands was stroking her cheek.

"_Mademoiselle, tu es très belle_," he purred softly. There was a dangerous seductive tone in his voice. His dark eyes were glazed, reflecting a shiny sheen that promised wickedness and unspoken things. He reminded her of a hunter, a strong dangerous predator. "Indeed, it has been _longtemps_ since I met a woman that has aroused such…strong emotions in me…"

He was leaning over her, his warm breath tickling the bare skin of her neck. She struggled, but to no avail. In speed, she had the upper hand, but in strength, she was weak. And she had been caught off-guards. Never would she have imagined that he, a mere dance instructor, would do something so outrageous on the grounds of his employers.

She opened her mouth to cry for help, but was quickly muffled by his hand covering her mouth.

"Ah _non_, I can't have _Mademoiselle _alerting everyone can I?" His breath warmed her cheek, causing a sense of revulsion and repulsion to stir within her. He noticed her frown and smiled. "I promise _Mademoiselle_ that she will never regret this, and she will _remerci_ me for this later…"

She struggled harder, her eyes wide with horror and terror. The man was utterly vile, despicable and perverse, an angel masking a devil on the inside! As he brushed a line of kisses along her jawline, she shivered in undisguised disgust. Her screams were almost making her hoarse, but all that came out were muffled cries, inaudible even to herself.

"But of course, if _Mademoiselle_ is _vraiment_ unwilling…" he nodded and smiled. "We could always trade…information instead…"

The word 'information' came out of his mouth as a chilling whisper. She shivered in spite of himself. "You mean…"

"Political details," he hissed. "It would be a trade, information for your safety. What do you say…_Madeimoselle_ would tell me where the where the scrolls of the political treaties between Jehanna and Renais are and I will leave _Mademoiselle_ alone, untouched and pristine like the _petite_ clean princess _Mademoiselle _is. Do we have a deal?"

She weighed her options carefully as she narrowed her eyes at her assailant. In their current position, he had the upper hand, and any wrong move on her part would only make her situation more perilous. If only she had her sword with her right now…

She opened her eyes and nodded once.

He leant away from her, although he still kept a tight grip on her limbs. He released the hand clamping her mouth and nudged her sharply, urging her to speak.

She grimaced as she took a deep breath. "The truth is, the treaties between Jehanna and Renais were already destroyed in the fire of the palace two decades ago, and thus the treaty between Jehanna and Renais had already been dissolved during that time."

His countenance turned pale. "_C'est impossible_!" he cried, his grip on her slackening in shock and horror. "My master…he told me…the treaty…liar!"

That one second when his grip slackened was all that she needed to smash her bent elbow into his abdomen hard, making him double over in pain. Following up her first blow with a series of merciless kicks to his shins and abdomen, she freed herself from his clutches and picked herself up from the couch, distancing herself away from him.

Pulling two daggers from his sleeves, he advanced towards her swiftly. Glancing around the room for a potential weapon to defend herself, she grabbed a large ornamental fan from the table and held it in front of her like a sword.

He laughed derisively, jeering at her choice of weapon, then slashed mercilessly at her. Turning, she whirled out of the way as the daggers slashed through where she had just stood a moment ago. He hurled himself upon her like a crazed tiger, jet black hair flying behind him, daggers outstretched.

Deftly, she blocked the two daggers with the fan. The bamboo of the frame hit metal, but it was sturdy and did not bear a single scratch. Sharply, she rapped the fan down hard upon his knuckles, causing him to drop his daggers and clutch his hands in pain. Eyes glittering with black hatred and blind fury, he slipped several throwing knives from the interior of his sleeve and threw them towards her.

Opening the fan in one fluid stroke, she deflected the two of the throwing knives thrown at her. Crouching down, she managed to avoid one of the other, which crashed into a large porcelain vase behind her. The last she managed to catch between her index finger and her middle finger. With a flick, she threw the knife back to its owner, forcing him to duck so as to duck the knife, which eventually hit a painting and ripped a hole in the canvas.

Carefully steering clear of the sharp pieces of smashed pottery on the ground, she waved the fan rapidly, defecting the shower of poison-tip needles her assailant sent with a flick of his wrist. Seizing one of the fallen daggers, she took careful aim at his throat.

The door opened with a slam, revealing a flustered-looking Joshua holding his sword. "What-"

With a sharp toss, she sent the dagger flying back to its master, the tip piercing through the hollow of his throat.

"-happened…" Joshua stared in bewilderment and shock at the dying man giving his last moans on the floor, her disheveled appearance and the destruction of the room.

She threw the dagger onto the floor. "That man, he was a spy posed as a dance instructor," she looked coldly at the fresh corpse on the floor. She still recalled how he had looked so smug and revolting a short while ago. "He threatened me, and he wanted to know about the treaty between Jehanna and Renais."

"Did you tell him anything?" Joshua crouched down beside the dead man, frowning.

She shook her head. "No."

Nodding, Joshua opened the man's robes. On the chest of the late dance instructor alias spy, there was a crest with the Grado coat of arms tattooed upon the flesh. Sighing, Joshua instructed a servant to call his mother, then turned to her. "Thank you," he smiled gently. "Did he hurt you anywhere?"

Silently rubbing her sore wrists behind her back, she shook her head. She did not exactly want him to know what had transpired between her and the spy of Grado. Seeing that she was still clutching the bamboo fan, she threw it onto the ground.

Her keen nose for danger detected a political upheaval amongst the six countries. Yet, she was helplessly trapped in the middle, in the centre of the political intrigue where a turned back warranted a fatal stab.

Shivering, she returned to her room, walking the around the corpse in the middle of the floor. She had had enough trouble in one day.

* * *

**Phew, that was one long single story development! Haha, the background of the story and the conflict is gradually being introduced, and it will serve as the backdrop for most of the scenes. **

**I made Marisa remove her daggers and shamshir, cos most normal people don't bring them to dance, do they? And I think Marisa is still pretty normal, despite her supernatural skills and beauty and aloofness. (She's awesome :D) Well, the fan part was a little inpromptu, I think it worked out alright? Haha, Marisa will be so cool using a fan as a weapon. Picture Marisa in a long flowing robe (like FE7 Karla's but more covered up) of peach silk, waving a white fan with plum blossoms drawn on them in the Chinese style. She'll be so grogeous and utterly graceful! ~~~~ Haha, she's my favourite female character.**

**Okay, next chapter, they'll be less explosive danger (there'll still be danger), but it'll be a sweet, heart warming chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and my rambling and thanks for reading!**

**Cheerios, snowylavendermist**


	5. Shackles of Recurrence

**Shackles of Recurrence**

_In nature, the inherent mathematics of probability and possibility makes thing recur, over and over, over and over. There is the chance of being struck by lightning more than once in one spot. The world record is 11 at last count. In a mathematics exam, one may write 3 instead of 5. In the next maths exam, what are the odds of one writing 3 instead of 5? Extremely high, based on personal experience. _

_So when these events occur again and again before your eyes, what do you do? Try and stop them from happening? Good choice. But what if you are not the one controlling. Then good luck, do whatever you can to try and prevent yourself from getting stuck in the same pile of mud again, and be constantly vigilant. It may seem a hassle, but at least it's a better alternative than dying._

"I heard that you confronted a dangerous spy who had infiltrated into our palace yesterday," Queen Ismaire set down the napkin and asked. "Were you hurt anywhere?"

She shook her head, delicately lifting her a forkful of scrambled eggs to her lips. Despite a full evening's worth of rest, her wrists were more painful than ever, and the areas where the spy had grasped them were turning a dark shade of red.

"That's good then, it's nice to see that the future Queen of Jehanna is well-trained in the arts of sword-fighting," Queen Ismaire relaxed visibly and smiled. "With the current political situation, one needs to be constantly vigilant- Dear lord! What happened to your wrists, child!"

Silently, she cursed her stupidity for not wearing a long-sleeved robe. Rather reluctantly, she held out her wrists so that Queen Ismaire could inspect her wounds closely.

The door opened. "Good morning, mother. What exactly are you doing to my wife?" He sat down in his seat opposite her. "Good morning my dear wife, you look ravishing today."

"Joshua!" The queen exclaimed, pointing to the red swollen marks. "Look at these! How could you allow your wife to suffer such injury at the hands of the Grado spy! No matter how busy you had been, you should have looked to her wounds first!"

"Oh hell," Joshua grabbed her wrists, eyes widening at the sight of the redness. "Why didn't you tell me about this yesterday? What did that bastard do to you?" He frowned as he lightly touched the red marks, making her wince.

"Joshua, language," his mother chided. "Next time if such as incident happens again, you should always give your wife a full-body check and make sure she is perfectly unharmed before you resume your princely duties! You have duty to your country, but your utmost priority is to your wife!"

"My utmost priority is to my wife…" he repeated slowly, trying to conceal the smirk that was slowly spreading across his face.

Marisa flushed and looked away, unable to meet his glance. His thumbs were rubbing small circles on the skin of her wrists, making her squirm in slight discomfort in her seat.

"Come, Marisa," he beckoned her. "Let's get you something for that nasty wound of yours."

On the way there, she attempted protesting. She disliked the attention she was getting, since it made her feel embarrassed and more important than what she really was. She tried to explain that it was a minor injury, and that it would fade in a few days, but he was persistent.

"You are my wife and I have a responsibility to make sure that you are safe," he retorted, steering her through the corridors.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. His wife, his wife…she would definitely be in anticipation of the day when she would leave that title behind her, then he would not be able to order her around like this.

"Come here and sit." He led her to her bedroom. "Wait here and don't move." He disappeared out of the door.

She sighed. Her wrists did hurt, but it was nothing that time could not heal. She had had plenty of nasty gashes all the time while she was still young, from learning to use swords and climbing walls.

He entered with a small enamel pot, which he opened to reveal some pleasant smelling ointment. "It's a balm for bruises, and it allows the wound to heal quickly," he explained. "I have it in my room because I used to always injure myself while training my skills with a sword, but I didn't want to go to the infirmary and worry my mother." He slowly rubbed the ointment on her red swollen skin. "By the way, how did you get these wounds? What did he do to you?"

"…" She had her reservations about telling him. It was not a pleasant experience and she did not wish to relieve it again in her mind. Neither did she want him, or anyone for that matter, to know what had happened behind the closed doors. It was…an embarrassing and disgraceful thing that would be better off kept secret and burden to herself only.

He must have felt her hesitation, for he stopped and took her hands in his and grinned encouragingly at her. "Don't worry, just tell me what happened," he said, hands still clasped around hers. "I won't judge you because of it."

"I…I was resting and he pinned me down," she said softly, her head hung low, her face pale. "He…made inappropriate advances to me and I rejected him, but I could not free myself…Then he made a proposal, that I would give him the information he wanted for…my chastity…I fed him false information, and took advantage of his shock to escape. Then we fought…and you saw the rest." Her face was burning when she finished.

He was silent for a moment, then gently he placed his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. She looked up in reluctance and in dread.

His face was stern, his mouth in a thin hard line that she had never seen on his face. His eyes, however, shone with unspoken tenderness and warmth. "It was not your fault," he whispered. "That bastard must gripped you very tightly. Does it still hurt?" He traced his finger tightly over the boundaries of her wound.

She shook her head, despite wincing at his touch. She was stronger than this, and she had experienced far worse. This was nothing, so why was her heart pounding so fast as he applied more ointment to her wrists?

"Were you scared?" He asked again, using the same gentle tone. "\When he threatened you, were you scared for yourself?"

There was no point in lying. She was already shivering as she recalled the memory of being trapped under the assailant from yesterday. The feeling of desperation and helplessness was not something that one could forget easily, or overcome easily.

The next instant, she was engulfed by warm arms, wrapped firmly around her. She tensed, startled by their closeness and the suddenness of his actions. "Joshua…" She was blushing furiously. She had never had such close personal contact with any men before.

"I'll protect you, while you are still my wife," he patted her back soothingly. "Don't worry, no one can get you while we are married." Releasing her, he grinned at her flushed complexion. "Do you think you will be well enough for the horse-riding lessons in the afternoon?"

"Horse-riding?" The thought was appealing, but she feared another assailant posing as an instructor.

He seemed to have read her thoughts, for he laughed. "Don't worry, I've told mother that I'll be your teacher for dancing and horse-riding in future. You won't come to any harm in my arms. After all, what can I possibly do to my own beautiful wife?"

Winking at her, he exited the room, leaving her bemused and confused.

* * *

When she arrived at her destination, dressed in a light casual robe of rose-coloured silk, Joshua was already waiting for her, cooing to his horse affectionately.

The horse noticed her and sniffed curiously in her direction. It was tall and majestic, the muscles on its legs prominent and clearly defined. Its coat shone healthily, a deep chestnut brown colour all over. Its eyes were deep brown as well, and she could see her reflection in its eyes.

"Oh, there you are," Joshua turned around and smiled at her. "Meet Winchester, Winchester, say hi princess. He's a beauty, isn't he?" Snapping his fingers, he called to the servants, who brought out another horse.

This one took her breath away. It was smaller than Winchester, but it was similarly well-built and beautifully-formed. With a light grey coat all over, its black eyes stood out prominently, shining with intelligence and a quiet determination. It treaded lightly on the ground, its long mane rippling gracefully in the wind as it moved.

A little awkwardly, she stood staring at the grey mare, uncertain of what to do.

"This little beauty here is Amber," Joshua came over and patted the horse on its neck. "Amber, this person here will be your mistress."

She glanced uncertainly at the mare again, which seemed to be scrutinizing her. What was she supposed to do? Curtsey to the horse and make acquaintances?

A servant boy came up to her, handed her an apple and bowed.

"Give her the apple, and let her smell your hand," Joshua commanded. The horse took a step towards her when it saw the apple. "Hey, easy girl! Steady, don't move."

Cautiously, she approached the horse, apple in outstretched hand like a peace offering. Amber leaned forward and sniffed daintily at the apple, then opened its mouth and crunched the apple in a single bite. Pawing the ground gently, it sniffed her hand, than gave her palm a long, wet lick.

"…" Of all the weird and bizarre things she had done in her life, she had to admit that this was one of the weirdest. She had never dreamed that she would one day stand in the royal palace and have a horse slobbering over her hand.

"Great! She likes you!" Joshua grinned. "That makes matters a lot simpler for me, now you can try mounting her! Put your right foot here and step up. Swing your leg over to the other side and voila!" His demonstration was perfectly flawless and she stared up in awe. "Come on, give it a shot," he encouraged, dismounting.

Heart pounding, she grasped the silk reins. He made it look really simple, but as she stood looking at Amber, who snorted and stayed still patiently, she could not help but wonder how she would do it without embarrassing herself in front of all the servants, who were busy ogling at her potential attempt.

As though he had read her mind, Joshua dismissed all the servants, asking them to return to their other duties.

Gratefully, she gave him a tentative smile, then mimicked his demonstration and swung herself onto the back of her horse.

"Woah!" She managed to yell before Amber reared, neighing, effectively throwing her off.

"Are you alright?" She opened her eyes shakily, finding herself in his arms. "That was pretty good for a first attempt, but try and land lighter next time, then Amber wouldn't be so startled and she won't try and throw you off."

"Right…" she said. Her first time had just ended in a failed murder attempt by an equine. All she could hope was the next time she tried to mount, it would not try and break her neck again.

However beautiful the mare was, she would rather live past her twenty-first birthday with all her body parts and organs still intact and functioning.

"Here, perhaps you might want to hold my hand for more support?" He offered an extended hand.

Flushing, she gripped his hand tightly, then made her second attempt at 'swinging gently' onto the back of the mare. This time, fortunately, she managed to get on safely and Amber merely stood still at the sudden weight flung onto her back.

"Ahh…good…you're a fast learner," Joshua smiled at her from below, still holding her hand. "Now sit tight on the saddle. Sit up straight, Marisa, and hold on tightly to the reins…No, don't strangle poor Amber…yes and now…"

Amber started off with a slow trot, setting off at a comfortable pace. Joshua nodded approvingly at her fast progress on horse-riding, then mounted his own steed and took off after them.

"If you want her to slow down, pull at the reins," he instructed, watching her struggle with the silk reins. "If you want her to go faster, then just gently flex the reins, Amber will speed up."

In little time, she had mastered the art of horse-riding, capable of riding for moderate distances at a fast speed without tumbling down her horse. Amber was a patient horse, with a playful streak and an unwavering loyalty towards her new master.

* * *

Marisa patted Amber's flank and retrieved another apple from the saddlebags Joshua had brought along. Amber took the treat in her mouth and whined in appreciation and thanks.

"You're a fast learner," Joshua said, stretched out on the green grass, eyes closed as though he was asleep. "You'll be able to join me in riding next time."

She turned to look at him, then glanced around uneasily. "Shouldn't we be going now?" The Sun was setting, and the darkness had begun spreading across the horizon. They had ridden far from the boundaries of the palace, and were now pausing for a rest in the middle of a clearing.

"We'll go back after we rest for a while here," he shrugged his shoulders casually. "If you are so worried that is. I doubt anyone would miss us though. Mother is having dinner at one of the minister's villas today."

It was not the issue of their absence being fussed about. She had an eerie feeling about this place. There were dark trees with thick foliage, perfect spots for concealing spies and short but bushy shrubs that could serve as a temporary cover. But he had chosen to lie down in the middle of the clearing, rendering them extremely vulnerable and susceptible.

"I don't know…I just-" Her words were cut off by a sharp crack.

Joshua instantly sat up, drawing the sword from its sheath. She reached down and unsheathed her shamshir, turning to face the tree from where the sound had come from.

For a moment, nothing moved, except the leaves and grass rustling in the ground. Far away, an eagle called shrilly as it circled the air.

Just as she was about to relax her hand holding her sword, three throwing stars shot out from behind the foliage, towards Joshua.

With quick reflexes, he lifted his sword and deflected the throwing stars in midair.

She spied a person running away from the tree and quickly gave chase, sprinting across the grass.

The person's face was masked with a piece of dark purple cloth, leaving only twin holes for the eyes and another opening for the nose. The tight dark green robes that the spy wore had helped in the camouflaging amongst the vegetation.

The spy looked back at her and narrowed his eyes. From his sleeve, he drew three more throwing stars and sent them flying towards her. Ducking, she drew her own daggers from her belt and threw them in the direction of the spy.

One of the daggers missed, but the dagger sank into the calf of the spy, who collapsed on the ground with a cry of pain.

"Who are you?" She pointed the tip of her sword at the throat of the wounded and panting spy. She saw Joshua running towards them, sword in hand.

The spy stayed motionless and narrowed his eyes. Yet, she somehow had the intuition that he was grinning.

"Marisa, be careful!" She heard Joshua cry out as she was tripped over and landed on the grass with a dull thud. She felt herself being pushed roughly aside, and she felt something sharp stab into her shoulder, then the deep agonizing pain that seared through her flesh and the pungent smell of blood.

Then the world turned silent.

* * *

**Oh ouch! Poor Marisa, a wound to her shoulder must hurt. Well, blame Joshua for lying down in the clearing and making them so exposed and conspicuous. Ahh well, but that's such a Joshua thing to do. **

**Don't worry, fellow Marisa fangirls. I won't let her die. At least not yet. Okay, I'll never let her die. Gosh. That time I wrote my Joshua Marisa tragedy with Marisa dying I was so upset I cried for her all over my keyboard. Now the spacebar doesn't work too well anymore. Darn. **

**I'll try and upload the next chapter soon. Currently still working on plot development, so it might take some time. Thanks for reading!**

**Cheerios, snowylavendermist**


	6. Shackles of Rumour

**Shackles of Rumour**

_Rumours have always been synonymous with palace intrigues and political agendas since the beginning of time. King Henry VIII executed his 5th wife based on the rumour that she had been secretly seeing some other man. Rumours fueled revolutions, and provided petty gossip for ladies to converse about whilest they hid their faces beneath their elaborate court fans._

_Rumours of love...rumours of political alliances...all these brought war, brought heartbreak, brought separation and dispair and misery. The destructive forces of rumours are known to all, but no smoke without fire. Everyone knows that even the most impossible of rumours may hold a grain of truth._

Marisa awoke groggily, a faint dull pain throbbing at her shoulder.

"Oww…"she groaned, clutching at the source of pain. She saw a faint outline of Joshua beside her, calling her name. "How long was I out?" She mumbled, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her vision and get rid of the headache.

"Slightly more than 2 minutes," Joshua said. "Don't worry, the throwing stars weren't poisoned, so the wound is not infected, not yet at least. We need to get you back to the palace infirmary as soon as possible." Gently, he lifted her up in his arms.

"Wait…what about the spy?" she asked. She had not sacrificed her health and blood for nothing. The least she wanted to do to the spy was subject him to intense interrogation for the next 24 hours.

Joshua jerked his head towards where a mass of black and purple cloths lay in a bloodied heap, limbs tied with a rough hemp rope. "He won't be spying anymore for a very long time," he said, using a tone so cold that she shivered. "And he can be certain that he will have a nice long-term jail cell awarded to his name in the prisons of Jehanna."

_That's good to know._ _At least if I have a permanent scar on my shoulder I could seek comfort in the fact that the maker of that scar is still sitting in his cell eating dry bread and watery porridge._

Cradling her tightly in his arms, Joshua placed her on his horse, then undid his own fur cloak and wrapped her tightly in furs, to protect her from the coldness of the night wind. Roughly, he heaved the unconscious spy onto Amber, who snorted and tossed her mane in annoyance at having become a carrier horse.

Mounting, he flexed the reins with one hand and held Marisa in the other. Winchester reared, kicking his front hooves high in the air and took off in a fast gallop, closely followed by Amber.

Leaning against Joshua's chest, Marisa exhaled softly. Everything was so warm and fuzzy, and she was trying hard to fight off the urge to sleep in his embrace. His cloak smelled exactly like him, radiating the same musky scent that both reassured and intrigued her.

"Enjoying yourself huh?"

A mixture of warmth, drowsiness and comfort caused her to drift back and forth along of sleep. The last thing she heard before she succumbed to sleep was his soft chuckling.

* * *

Marisa lay on the soft bed, wrapped tightly in white satin sheets from her feet all the way to her neck.

"It's just a small wound," the healer in the charge, a beautiful cleric named Natasha, reassured her. "I've closed it up as best as I could with magic, but whether it will leave a scar…you will have to leave the wound to heal by itself." Natahsa gave her a warm smile.

"So, I can leave?" Marisa asked, throwing the covers off. They were suffocating, restrictive and tightly uncomfortable. And she could not wait to get away from the pungent smell of herbs, alcohol and medicines.

Natasha gave another smile, seeing her eagerness. "I suppose, your highness, although I advise you to be careful and not engage in any vigorous activity to open the wound."

Joshua tapped his foot. "Okay, all healed, now we can go, right?" He said impatiently. "Here, I'll take you back to your room to prevent you from _engaging in any vigorous activity_."

She resisted the urge to give a sound slap on his arm, which would most likely result in her wound opening. As much as Natasha appeared patient and understanding, the last thing she wanted to do was ask the healer to heal her all over again.

"Wait for me outside, okay?" Joshua propelled her out of the door. "I need to say a few words to Natasha."

Nodding, she leaned against the wall and watched him disappear behind the satin curtain, then heard the door slam.

One minute passed…two minutes passed…five minutes passed…She tapped her finger against the wall. What exactly did he have to talk to Natasha about that took so long?

"Did you see Prince Joshua walk into the infirmary?" She saw two junior clerics in the dark, carrying two medicinal trays and walking towards the door. "To walk in alone at night…isn't he afraid of another scandal?"

"Given that the last had already exploded beyond containable proportions, perhaps he decided that everyone knows about their relationship already, so he isn't even bothering to hide his actions…" the other cleric giggled mischievously. "Everyone in the palace knew about the scandal, remember? Even the dozing guards woke up to gossip about their affair."

The two clerics burst out laughing, before hurriedly hushing themselves. "But the new princess doesn't know about the incident…" One of them cocked her head. "Does she? She doesn't say much, that's for sure."

"Well…I'll say she didn't…" Her companion said thoughtfully. "Otherwise she wouldn't marry him. No self-respecting female would marry Prince Joshua with such a scandal under his name…" They both burst into shrill laughter.

"Shh…" Her friend silenced her, giggling. "You never know who is walking along these corridors. We may be overheard anytime. I still want my job, you know!"

"Princess Marisa." A voice behind her caused her to jump in shock. She had been so absorbed listening to the clerics' conversation that she had forgotten to watch her back. She whirled around to see a maidservant bowing before her. "There are guests for your highness, two guests. They are waiting in the Hall of Serenity. Would your highness like to receive them?"

A porcelain container smashed behind her, the sharp sound resounded down the dark corridor. She turned back to see the two clerics staring at her, eyes wide with horror. One of them had jerked her tray in her shock and smashed the pot of medicine. Dark red liquid spread in viscous manner across the waxed wooden floor. Shards of porcelain lay gleaming in the pool of medicine.

For a moment, no one moved. The clerics were frozen in shock and horror. The maidservant was still because she was waiting for Marisa's orders.

Marisa stared at the broken pieces of pottery. In the dark red liquid, she could almost see her own reflection, pale and solemn, staring unblinkingly back at herself.

Her heart clenched involuntarily, leaving her short of breath.

Why did she care what happened between Joshua and other women? She was only his wife in name, not in anything else. He was free to love other women, and even freer to pursue these objects of his affection after he became king and they divorced.

_So why did she feel this aching pain deep inside her?_

"What happened?" Natasha opened the door. Then she saw the broken medicine pot. "Oh…" she frowned. "Sweep it up later, please? Thank you…"

The clerics bowed and hurried away.

Joshua walked out and stood beside Natasha. "Wow, that's a mess…" he joked, looking at Marisa. "Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with it?"

She heard not hear him. Or did she? It no longer mattered. Nothing seemed to matter.

She continued staring at her reflection with glassy eyes. Everything…seemed strangely distant…after she had heard everything…

_Was it the truth? Was it a rumour? Did he mean to deceive me? _

"Hey, you okay?" Joshua waved his hand in front of her face up and down rapidly. "You look a little…ill…Are you sure you don't need Natasha to give you another check-up?"

She looked up.

The same musky scent swarmed her again, but this time it merely made her heart clench tighter. It did not draw her to him. It repelled her, and she wanted to run, run away from him.

She noticed how strangely compatible he looked with Natasha beside him. She had that distinguished ethereal grace and air of dignity, similar to the manner Queen Ismaire carried herself. Furthermore, despite the plain satin white robes, Natasha still looked hauntingly beautiful with her pale flawless skin and silky blond tresses, like a lovely divine being descended from the heavens.

"I'm fine…" _Think about happy things…think about how in a few years' time you will be away from this palace…think of all the freedom and fun you will be able to enjoy then…_For some reason, the thoughts seemed to engulf her with more sadness than joy and happiness.

"Your highness," the maidservant bowed again. "Princess, your dress is soaking…"

With a gasp of realization, she hurriedly pulled her long robe from where it was soaking the dark red liquid on the wooden floor, her face flushed from embarrassment at her clumsiness and lack of dignity.

Joshua laughed at her apparent discomfort. "Do you want me to accompany you to your room?"

The maidservant bowed again, this time to him. "Your royal highness, the princess has guests to receive in the Hall of Serenity."

"Guests?" Joshua grinned. "Hmm…that's strange…we never asked for anyone, so who are your mysterious admirers? At such a late hour too! Do you want me to walk you there?" He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "We don't want you to get lost walking in these corridors by yourself.

_Breathe, Marisa, breathe deeply and ignore that…whatever it is in your heart._ "It's alright," she said at last, forcing a smile. Hesitantly, she pulled her hand away from his grip. _It would be better for it to stay close to her instead. _"Thank you, Natasha. Your cures are really effective."

Eyes downcast, she turned around, and walked away with as much courage and grace as she could muster, swallowed by the darkness of the corridor.

_Breathe, Marisa, breathe deeply._

* * *

The two very familiar figures rose as she entered the Hall of Serenity.

"Gerik? Saleh?" She was fairly astonished to see them here, but was also secretly glad and relieved to see her friends again.

"Marisa!" Gerik looked extremely relieved to see her. "You nearly gave me a heart attack the other day you went off like that? Saleh and I had been hunting for you since day one of your disappearance!"

"Now, you've found me, Chief," Marisa smiled, taking a seat opposite her friends. "How's everybody?"

"We're buried to our necks in missions without you, Marisa," Gerik ran a hand through his hair ruefully. "You were our most efficient member, and now Saleh has to take up both strategizing and still be in action. But everyone's pretty fine and sane. Tethys is still dancing. Ewan is still as childish as ever, but that scamp is improving and learning fast. I'm great, just a little sleepy. Saleh…well…"

"Saleh…" Although it had been scarcely over a month, Saleh looked much older than when she had last seen him in the morning of her marriage. Thick eyebags framed his sunken-in eyes. He had grown much thinner, and was much paler in complexion. His clothes, which once fit his frame snugly, hung on his body limply, at least two sizes too big.

Saleh noticed her staring and shrugged nonchalantly. "It's nothing, Marisa." He leant back on the couch and took a sip of the tea. "Why don't you tell us about how it is like living here and being the princess? You look…pretty well-fed."

She blushed. The truth was that she was extremely comfortable living in the palace, having the choicest pick of everything and not having to lift a finger to do anything. "It is quite pleasant…besides the danger aspect…"

"Danger? What danger?" Gerik sat up sharply. "Isn't the royal palace heavily guarded?"

"Spies, they are running around and about…" She recounted her experiences with the spies in the palace. Pulling down one shoulder of her robe, she showed down the wound on her shoulder.

Gerik leant forward and scrutinised the wound, but Saleh flushed and looked away nervously.

"Looks like a wound cut from the stuff we found on the Grado spy that other day, right Saleh?" Gerik said thoughtfully.

Saleh looked up at the mention of his name, briefly glanced at the wound on her shoulder, then looked away again quickly, his face red. "Yeah…yeah…" he said, shifting on the couch.

They continued talking, about light-hearted issues, such as the missions they had been doing and Ewan's pranks.

"The kid has been asking about you everyday," Gerik chuckled fondly. "Asking how you are…by the way, how is the prince?"

"He's…" she hesitated. "Fine…" She decided it was not the time to tell them of the annulment of her marriage in the years to come. That could wait.

"Does he treat you well?" Saleh asked, tensely gripping his teacup.

Taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, she swallowed nervously. "Quite, I suppose…" She wondered whether she should tell them about the scandal. Perhaps not, because judging from Saleh's expression and Gerik's narrowed eyes, they were prepared to storm the castle and murder Joshua if they heard anything about him breaking his marital vows.

"On the orders of Queen Ismaire, Princess Marisa needs to rest for the evening." An attendant came into the room and bowed.

Standing up, Gerik and Saleh exchanged farewells with her. "Take care, Marisa," Gerik grinned. "Don't get lost in the palace, and remember not to eat too much good food lest you grow fat."

She waved him irritably. She was _not_ going to grow fat. "Give my regards to Tethys and Ewan."

"Marisa, take care of yourself." Saleh said, a smile stretched over his pale features. "We'll come and see you often and bring you more news."

"Thank you," she said. "Saleh, eat more. I…" She struggled to find the right word to express the feeling of sympathy that had welled up in her.

He chuckled softly, then grasped her hand. "Marisa, be careful." He whispered. "I-" he hesitated, then with a whirl of his cloak he too was gone out of the door, leaving her with his warmth left lingering on her hand.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Phew! This chapter's posted, and the update was pretty quick, all thanks to the copious amounts of time I have during this particular blissful period known as holidays! :D**

**Special thanks goes out to Nacre, who pointed out a flaw in my writing. I will try and improve over the chapters, and hopefully correct this bad habit of mine to use large flamboyant words that do little to move the story. **

**As for this chapter, I personally like it quite a lot, since now Marisa's relationship is getting all complex and messy. First Joshua's making her feel all comfortable and fuzzy, but then in comes Natasha, followed by Gerik and Saleh, with the past catching up on her. Gerik is still Gerik, but Saleh is not Saleh. Another person will be coming in soon, in approximately a few chapters, and will help us tangle this web further.**

**Haha, I need to start drawing a character map for my own reference soon.**

**Thanks for reading and review please!**

**Cheerios, snowylavendermist**


	7. Shackles of Conversation

**Shackles of Cenversation**

She sat on the cherry tree, leaning her back against a thick sturdy branch. Bored, she watched lazily as a little blue bird flittered amongst the small fruits of the cherry tree, unripe and green.

She could scarcely wait for the fruits to ripen into the delicious dark shades of red and purple, tantalizing and sweet. She imagined the sweet taste of the juice caressing her lips when she first bit into the cherry, then the heavenly experience that would follow, the sweet morsel resting in her mouth before sliding down her throat, leaving a fiery trail of exquisite goodness.

Nobody but one individual knew her secret fondness for cherries. During the hot summers when everyone else was frolicking in the seas and rivers, trying to cool themselves down, she would be sitting on the branches of the cherry tree occupying herself with eating the cherries, a smile of pure enjoyment and bliss dancing on her face.

_He_ would be sitting on the grass, leaning against the trunk of the cherry tree, a book in one hand, a flask of cooling lemonade in the other. He did not have her acute fondness for cherries, but neither did he have an aversion for them. Sometimes, when he was tired from reading, he would climb up with her and help her pick those fruits that dangled beyond her reach, and he would always give her the biggest, the darkest and the sweetest.

Now that she thought about it, it had gone on for the past ten years. Ten years of summers spent together in the cherry tree! It had never struck her before, but it seemed that she had spent much more time together with Saleh than she thought she had.

"Hey!" Someone was shouting up the cherry tree.

She caught the glimpse of the long red hair and the gleam of his royal sword. Joshua. It was time to pretend that nobody was home.

"Hey! Marisa!" He called gleefully. "I know you're up there, no need to hide. Come down!"

Silently, she tucked her legs underneath her and slowed down her breathing. Why couldn't he go and bother his lover or something? Did Natasha chase him out of the infirmary, and that was why he decided to come annoy her out of sheer boredom?

She continued staying as still as a statue. Maybe if she pretended well, he would think he was mistaken and he would go away and leave her alone. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself as a branch, a lone stationary branch that camouflaged with the surroundings and nobody could tell that she was there…

"Ah hah!" The leaves parted before her and she opened her eyes to see Joshua climbing up deftly and sitting himself beside her. "There you are! I knew you were up here, so since you didn't want to come down, I came up here."

_Doesn't the thought ever occur to him that maybe, just a minute slim tiny chance, I don't want him here?_ She thought sarcastically. Ever since the spy had wounded her the other day during horse riding, he had consistently tailed her around the palace, cornering her every now and then to check whether she was still alive and well.

If he recalled, she was the one who killed that spy posing as a dance instructor, and she was the one who had wounded the other spy that day at the clearing! She was perfectly equipped (her shamshir never left her side) and perfectly skilled (she would have bested him that day if not for his cheating ways) to defend herself from an onslaught of spies and assassins and whatnots. She did _not_ need him to follow her around and fawn over her as though she was a cute little helpless Chihuahua on a golden pillow.

"What?" She asked coldly. The memory of the junior clerics' words were still fresh in her memory, and every time she saw his face, their conversation would resurface again in her mind. She pictured him kissing Natasha on the lips in the empty infirmary, while she was waiting outside patiently like the dutiful fool of a wife she always had been.

"I think that we need to talk." He said casually, as though it was the most normal thing to do. "You know, have a heart-to-heart talk as husband and wife."

She looked at him in the eye. "I don't have anything to talk about with you." She shifted away from him coldly.

"Exactly!" He sounded frustrated. "You never talk to me, and we scarcely even know each other, and yet we are husband and wife! I know, I know it's just a marriage in name, but don't you think it's bizarre if someone asks me what my father-in-law works as and I cannot answer?"

She turned her head away. "You already know that, don't you?" she spat bitterly. _A gambler who gave his daughter away to save his own hide._

There was a tense moment between the two of them. She turned her face away and watched as a squirrel clambered up the wall, while he sat staring at his hands, eyes downcast, knowing that he had touched a raw nerve.

"Ahh…why don't we play spin the bottle? I've got a handy bottle of wine in my room, we could use it!" Joshua said with a sudden cheerfulness, breaking the awkward silence.

"What the heck is that?" she asked. It sounded stupid, and if he was playing it, yeah, it probably was stupid. But there was no harm in learning a new game, especially if it had the potential to take away the boredom of being stuck in a palace.

"You don't know?" A look of genuine surprise crossed his features. "My darling wife, you had such a poor deprived miserable childhood…" He cupped his hands over his heart and displayed a pained expression in an attempt to show mock pity and sympathy.

She growled dangerously. "Shut up about my childhood and get on with it."

He grinned, but chose wisely not to continue on the subject of her childhood. "Well, you spin the bottle, and whoever's side the bottle lands on will have to answer a question the other person gives, then drink up. So since we can't play that here and the bottle of wine is not here either…my room?"

"I'll play that in your room the day the Sun shines pink in a yellow sky," she retorted, rolling her eyes at the wounded expression he immediately put on at her words.

"Your room then?"

"When the moon shines pink in a yellow sky."

"_Fine. _Common room." He jumped off the tree and raced towards the building. "Last one there's a fat lumbering elephant!"

* * *

The last six rounds had all turned out, fatefully, as her turn to answer the questions and drink up. Fortunately, he had asked some extremely simple and rather standard questions, such as her favourite colour (magenta), her favourite hobby (swordplay), her favourite animal (falcon), her favourite season (autumn), her favourite part of the palace (her room) and her most wanted possession in life (a good sword).

"Wait!" she said, as he reached for the bottle. "I spin the bottle this time!" Gripping the bottle, she gave it a hearty spin. "Ha! It's yours!" She sank back into her seat, thinking of a question. "Well…what is your opinion of me?"

He was taken aback by the question, or at least she felt so. Turning the bottle cap slowly between his fingers, he gave her a really contradictory and really confusing reply. "You're clumsy but graceful, serious but cute, stupid but wise and fiery but cool. That's for character. Of course, there is still the physical appearance part, which I would say you deserve a 9.9 over 10." Upon completion of his profound analysis, he declined to elaborate further and drank a glassful of wine.

He spun, and the bottle landed on his side by a narrow margin.

"So what is your goal in life, being a prince?" she asked quickly.

He paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "My goal? I don't think I have one, being a prince and all. It's sort of a lifelong thing that comes with me ever since I was born."

"So you don't have a goal?" she asked skeptically. Most people had a goal. Some had _huge _goals, like the kid who had once been her neighbour. How many people actually grew up with the goal of being a _superhero of the universe_?

"Actually…come to think of it, I do," he replied, eyebrows knitted together. "I want to be a good king to my people, but at the same time…" He hesitated, as though that wish of his was a heavy burden to his heart.

"Go on," she encouraged softly.

"I want to live the life of a normal person," he said finally, with resignation and wistfulness. "I want to love, and be loved; I want to raise a family, and enjoy family life with my wife and children; I want to feel…what it would be like if I had been born a normal person, without the royal blood, without the scheming politics, without the heavy responsibilities. But…no one understands, they always expect me to be the perfect crown prince, fully able to take over Jehanna after my mother. The truth is, I never wanted to be king."

She was silent. She had just heard him spill his innermost feelings to her, and they surprised her. Now that she knew what he really wanted, she could not help but feel sorry for him…even feel as though she wanted to care for him and bring some relief to his life.

"I know how you feel," she sighed. "I was never free. My father's debts chained me down, and I worked everyday just to pay off the interests. I am his daughter, and that will never change. I will always have that burden on my shoulders."

"At least you'll have me around to lighten that burden a little," Joshua said, giving a small smile. "Being my wife, you'll never have to worry about money, and neither will your father."

"You'll have me around to lighten _your_ burden," she retorted. "So it's fair."

He arched an eyebrow at her reply. "And how exactly do you intend to lighten my burden, my darling wife?" His crimson eyes flashed as he looked at her intently.

"I can – Oh." She understood the meaning of his words and blushed heavily. She had not expected him to bring up that point. After all, since day one, she had felt that since they were going to be married for a short period only, there was no point in them having any deeper interaction than being just acquaintances.

He smirked humourlessly, then grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself one drink after another, draining his glasses.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Stop," she demanded. "You're going to make yourself drunk."

He looked at her with glazed eyes, unfocused from the alcohol, and smirked. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he downed the whole bottle before slamming it down on the table..

"Drink with me, Marisa. All hail our lives!" He threw aside the empty bottle and dug another bottle out of apparently nowhere and poured both of them a glass each. "Cheers, my darling wife."

Reluctantly, she downed her wine. It scorched a trail down her throat, leaving a burning but sweet aftertaste that was not entirely unpleasant.

When at long last all the bottles were empty, he was out cold, sprawled on the floor in an undignified manner. She, on the other hand, was struggling to keep herself conscious with the influence of so much alcohol in her bloodstream.

_Why did I drink so much? Darn, I'm seeing fifteen instead of five fingers on my hand._

Panting, she managed to drag him, who was much heavier and taller than she was, into his bedroom and laid him on the bed.

His bed was white and comfortable, decked high in soft downy quilts and blankets. Seeing him snuggle into his cave of blankets, she was seduced with the idea of lying down, just a little while, to see if his bed was as comfortable as it looked.

Head swimming from the abnormally high concentration of alcohol in her blood, she lay down beside Joshua on the bed, careful not to touch any part of him. The bed was indeed comfortable, much more comfortable than hers with the measly two pieces of silk brocade blankets that failed to keep her warm and cozy.

"Just a little while more…" She mumbled as the darkness swarmed above her and sleep enveloped her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Apologies for not updating regularly. Even though it's the hols here I haven't been writing much. Now that I have taken up my pen (or rather keyboard) again, let the sotry pour on, dralala.**

**And darkblaziken reflected to me one day that my chapters were relatively short, and I kind of agree. So I'm going to write longer chapters! This probably takes effect around chapter 10? **

**Hope you enjoyed this. Review please! Thanks. **

**Cheerios~ snowylavendermist**


	8. Shackles of Empathy

**Shackles of Empathy**

_You know that life doesn't give you much choices: most of what you do are forced. Yet, sometimes when you know you should do something, deep down in your heart you find this little creature named empathy tugging at your heartstrings, reminding you that you were once in the same predicament, urging you to show a little mercy instead of justice._

_Empathy, it is that milk of human goodness that differentiates humans from beasts. We learn, we compare, we feel for, we empathise, and through all of this, we show compassion and mercy. _

_Empathy, indeed, is a powerful emotion..._She awoke groggily to the sun shining warmly on her face through the window. A few birds sang an early song, possibly perched on the branch of the tree outside the window.

* * *

It was her best sleep ever since she had arrived in the palace, and she was thankful for it. The bed was strangely warm and cozy. While she used to delight in getting out of bed and being active, today she wanted nothing more than to snuggle more, sleep more and enjoy the warmth more.

Wait…Snuggle? Marisa knew she had strange sleeping habits, such as hugging her pillow and wrapping the blankets around her like a cocoon, but she never did _snuggle_. _Snuggling _was a word that had never surfaced in her vocabulary.

Blinking, she opened her eyes to find herself looking into the bright crimson eyes of her husband, Joshua.

"Well, good morning Marisa," Joshua smirked. He appeared to be in an _exceptionally_ good mood today. _Drat_. "It's nice to see you so early in the morning."

She blushed, panicked, resisted the urge to scream, resisted the urge to smack him repeatedly on his head and struggled to remove his arm from her waist. She knew he was going to tease her mercilessly about sharing the same bed as him last night. "Last night was an accident, we were both drunk." She said this was as much dignity as her current situatio would allow her. Fortunately, they were too drunk to do anything, if that was the one thing she was relieved for.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Joshua smirked wider, pulling her towards him. "You know, I slept really well last night, in spite of the alcohol, and I am certain you did too. So I was thinking, why not make a permanent move here into my room and then we can both guarantee ourselves a lifetime of quality sleep."

"I said it was an accident," she huffed crossly, brushing a hand through her tousled hair. "I can assure you it will _never_ happen again, so dream on."

"You sure?" He laughed, grinning at her. "Well, last night I extended no invitation, and yet I woke up today to find my delectable wife in my arms, snuggling against my chest and wearing a rare smile."

"I. Do. Not. Snuggle." She said furiously as she treaded across the carpeted floor, heading for the door.

"Oh you do alright, right here with your head resting against my chest, your arms around my neck," Joshua laughed again at her outraged expression. "By the way, do you know that you snore too?"

"I. Do. Not. Snuggle. Or. Snore." Furious and embarrassed, she slammed the door so hard that the frame rattled.

* * *

Marisa was bored. Queen Ismaire was away visiting some of the developing villages, gaining public support, and Joshua was away doing paperwork such the approval of the upcoming dinner held at the Renais Castle.

Although she was more often than not annoyed and embarrassed by his relentless teasing (he _still_ teased her about sharing a bed with him for one night, 12 hours after the incident), but he was a good swordmaster, and she could hone her skills by sparring with him.

Now, she was reduced to sparring against her shadow in the yard, which was pretty boring, since she could predict exactly where her shadow would move next.

As such, in her sheer boredom, she noticed instantly as something big and brown flew from the red tiles of the palace roof smoothly into the bosom of the cherry tree and was instantly covered by the thick foliage.

Gripping her shamshir tightly, she narrowed her eyes and followed him into the tree, pushing past the thick branches that sprang towards her.

The intruder was nimble and agile, and moved with surprising speed, demonstrating an obvious skill and experience in running above ground. Through sea of the leaves and branches that separated him from her, she could see that he wore an old robe of varying shades of brown and black, with brown riding boots. His medium brown hair was tied in a loose ponytail, which bounced as he fled swiftly. His left hand reached out and grabbed hold of branches to aid him in his stability and balance, but his right hand was tightly clenched around something small and shining. From the distance, she could not yet discern what the object was, but if her intuition (and experience) served her well, that man was a common thief who had no doubt just stolen a valuable bauble from the palace, just as she had done in the past.

_Too bad he was not as careful as I was._ She thought grimly as she closed the distance between them, leaping smoothly over the palace wall and landed soundlessly on the grass outside of the palace, less then 5 feet away from the intruder.

She snatched at his billowing robes, and succeeded in halting his escape.

She caught a quick glance of a tanned face with a roguish grin and small brown eyes. Then she heard the sound of tearing and saw the thief continue his escape, his torn dress-shirt flying behind him.

Throwing away the torn piece of cloth in her fist, she took flight after him, hot on his tail. There was _no_ way she was going to let him escape from her clutches. Whatever the thing was, he was going to give it back.

Through gardens, across bridges, over people's heads, on roof tops, amidst tree branches and leaves…he tripped over a terracotta tile, which had jutting out from its position on a roof top. He managed to catch himself just in time, and he ended up balancing precariously at the edge of the roof

When he looked up, the tip of her shamshir was pointed at the hollow of his throat. Any sudden movement on his part to draw his weapon or raise a foot and she would drive her sword through him without any hesitation.

Momentarily, he looked stunned. When he looked from the shamshir to the hand holding the shamshir, he visibly relaxed. When he continued his peruse from the hand to her face, he laughed out loud, in spite of his dangerous situation.

"I was wondering who it was behind me," he laughed mockingly. "To imagine, all along my pursuer was a woman! I applaud your skills. They are excellent even for men, and amongst women you must be incomparable."

"Open your right hand," she commanded monotonously. She was not in the mood to be complimented. She was hot and tired after chasing him for miles on foot and was highly irritated. Her hand twitched violently from the temptation to just kill him and take the stolen object back.

He looked at the tip of the sword, which had edged closer to his throat and was now grazing his skin, then at face of utter seriousness, then back at the sword. Swallowing nervously, he jerked his head back so that the sword was not touching his vulnerable neck and reluctantly opened his right hand.

In a flash, she grabbed the item from his hand, shamshir still placed against his throat in case he had any tricks up his sleeve.

The object was a bracelet. Inlaid with colourful pieces of jewels, the enamel bracelet glimmered under the sun. It was still warm from being clenched in his hand. "You stole my bracelet." She narrowed her eyes at the thief.

"I did? But I went into the royal princess' room…" His eyes widened as he made the connection mentally. "You? You are the princess?" He began laughing, doubling over with mirth.

She was annoyed with this strange thief before her. He stole her bracelet, complimented her while his life was hanging by a thread and laughed at her position of princess?

"Let me greet you, your royal highness." He prostrated himself at her feet, head, hands and knees on the terracotta tiles. "O your royal highness, I apologise for my blunder, you majesty! Please spare my miserable life!"

Each of his words was punctuated by a short bark of controlled laughter.

Her fists clenched. _You utter worm…_She thought furiously as her hands trembled from rage. By bowing before her, he had revealed a clean expense of the tanned skin of his neck, and she had to resist the strong urge to swing her shamshir and give him a nice, clean, fast and easy death.

_It'll probably break my shamshir._ She calmed herself down with the thought. _I'll only desecrate my shamshir by using it on a foul worm such as him._

Turning around sharply, she was going to depart when his voice stopped her. "Hey, princess! You aren't going to kill me?"

"Do you want me to?" She said with clenched teeth. The thief was very successfully driving her to the edge of her patience.

"Certainly not," he said easily, chucking his hands into his pockets. "Thank you for sparing my life, your highness." He paused, then pointed at her hand. "Since you are feeling generous today, could you spare me that trinket too? I'm a little, ehh, short of money today, and that trinket would do nicely to provide me with some coins that I badly require."

"No." It was hers, and it would be hers. He should be grateful that she had spared his life for touching her things.

"Aww…come on princess!" He blocked her path with outstretched arms. "You live in sheer luxury. You can afford to give away some things to a poor penniless soul like me, who lives from hand to mouth everyday!"

She nearly gagged at the thought of him as a 'poor penniless soul'. Slowly, she considered her options. He was definitely skilled in the arts of stealth. And if she were not mistaken, the blade hanging on his belt would prove that he was skilled in the arts of the sword as well. She had not had a good challenge for a long time…

"If you spar with me," she enunciated slowly. "And you win, I'll spare your life and give you the bracelet. If you lose, get lost. Deal?"

He grinned and unsheathed his sword. Compared to Joshua's and hers, which were long, sleek and sharp at slicing, his was short and stocky, with a thick blade tapered to a sharp point. She had never seen such types of swords before, but she could feel that its short length would prove to be advantageous during espionage and assassinations.

He dashed for her in a whirl, the tiles crackling at his feet. She parried his stroke, and the sheer strength of his attack surprised her, causing to step back to regain a good balance. Retaliating, she lashed out a stroke of her own, which he dodged.

Dodge? She nearly lost her balance just by seeing him dodge. _No one_ dodged during sparring. Everyone lifted their sword and parried the others' attack. This guy was strange…and intriguing.

His short swords useless in his hands, he dodged her blows, stroke after stroke, looking as though he had little intention to even lift his weapon to defend himself. However, give credit where it was due, and she was very impressed with his abilities of evasion.

Finally, she cornered him at the edge of the rooftop, sword pointing against his chest. "I win," she said softly.

He looked slightly dejected at his defeat and shrugged his shoulders, but she had the suspicion that it was only because of the loss of the bracelet. "Okay, so you won," he said irritably. "Now leave me alone princess, I won't bother you."

"…" She was curious about this surprising intruder. He was proficient in the arts of stealth, but suffered great disadvantages at close combat. He was cheerful one minute, and solemn and grumpy the next. He valued a piece of trinket more than his skill and abilities.

His dusty clothes reminded of her robes in the past, where the cloths were slightly faded from use, and threads had begun unraveling at the seams. His slightly messy hair and careless attitude reminded her of herself, when she pilfered for a living from the royal palace.

"Hey!" She called out to him as he turned to leave, hands in his pockets. "Take it." She threw the bracelet into his hand.

He caught it deftly, a look of surprise and glee flashing across his face. "But I thought you were all about how I was a thief and I should not be doing unlawful things like stealing your jewellery?"

_You remind me of myself in the past._ No, she was not going to say what was in her mind. Maybe he needed the money badly. Maybe he was poor and lived by stealing from rich people for his next meal. Maybe he had an irresponsible parent who gambled away his family fortune. Maybe the bracelet could mean a world of difference to him. As compared to letting it sit idly on her dressing table, giving the bracelet to him sounded like a more meaningful way to treat that piece of trinket.

"Just take it as my token for a good spar." She turned to leave. The sparring had been good, just that she suspected he had gone easy on her. Now, if she could get back to the palace quickly, no one may have even discovered her disappearance.

"Hey!" She turned back to see him standing at the rooftop, waving his hand at her. "Thanks! I'm Rennac, by the way." He too leapt onto another roof and left for the other direction. "See you around, princess!"

She had a premonition that she would see him again in the near future, and that he would play a big role to her life.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hey everybody! Okay, I personally admit that this chapter was a bit on the dry side, like no suspense whatsoever, but alas, everything is needed to move a story, and as much as i disliked writing this chapter due to the sheer dryness of the technicality of fighting Rennac, Rennac's appearance was a must. SIGH. Sorry, Rennac isn't particularly a favourite of mine since I find him really hard to characterise. My bad actually. Anyone has any tips on writing Rennac?**

**Oh well, next chapter would be pretty...hmmm..._interesting..._*wags finger* *raises eyebrows* Lol, so stay tuned! I'll try and work harder. Only Saint Elimine knows how much I have been slacking off this hols. I really need to work harder. **

**Alright, review please and thanks for reading.**

**Cheerios, snowylavendermist (10.58 am, Monday, sunny with slight breeze, cheery)**


	9. Shackles of Ambivalence

**shackles of Ambivalence**

_In everyone's lives, there always is this one single moment when one felt torn between two emotions. It may be love and hate for a particular individual, happiness and sorrow at a particular event that has serious repurcussions on the rest of one's life...anything and everything, so long as they are antithesis of each other, will suffice._

_The feeling of having one's heart torn into two because of polarising emotions lacerates, and in extreme cases drives individuals to madness and craze._It was a wonderfully windy morning and Marisa had decided to sleep late. The encounter with that rogue of a human being named Rennac the other day had left her exhausted, both from the chase and from dealing with his sharp remarks.

* * *

She was wrapped up in her meager silk blankets like a little silk worm in its cocoon, and falling into a delightful dream where she sat in the cherry tree, unmarried and free, when her door burst open and slammed shut again with tremendous speed and a tremendous crash.

A heavy weight was uncomfortably flung upon her cocoon of blankets, and wrapped itself like a third skin around her.

"Marisa, you sleepy queen." Even without opening her eyes, she could recognize Joshua's cooing. "Wake up, it's nearly 9."

Annoyed, she resolutely shrugged him off her pile of blankets, encased herself tighter in the protective coat of silk and covered her head with the pillows. She was _not_ going to wake up.

"Come on, my darling Marisa," he tried again, using a softer and even sweeter tone than before. The sugar crystals were practically dripping from his honeyed voice. "Rise and shine before I make you…"

His words had little effect on her. She would sleep when she wanted to and rise when she felt like it. Who was he to tell her what to do?

Then she felt something warm and wet against her ear, licking her earlobe gently in small circles. Unwillingly, she sighed. It did feel good, even if it was so wrong for her to be enjoying it. It might implant wrong ideas into his mind. And should anyone walk in, it would be utterly awkward for the both of them…

"Umm…Marisa?" Joshua's voice said again, sounding slightly further away from her ear than she thought it would be. The licking continued. His voice had a badly concealed snigger.

She opened her eyes finally, only to find herself staring face to face with a pair of light brown eyes resembling liquid caramel, followed by a long wet and pink tongue emerging from a ball of soft chocolate brown fur, which promptly gave her a full lick on her lips.

"Urgh!" She leapt from her bed as soon as she saw the ball of fluff. Grabbing her shamshir from her bedside table, she unsheathed the sword and pointed in at the moist black nose. "Get it away. Now."

The puppy, the soft little ball of brown fur, wagged its little tail in excitement as it attempt to launch itself out of Joshua's arms and catapult itself upon her.

"Aargh!" Swinging her shamshir high in the air, she prepared to bring it down, ending the existence of the cute ball of chocolate fur.

The puppy yelped. Joshua yelped. Joshua retracted his arms. She shrieked as she swung down the shamshir at full strength. The blade sliced through air and through two pillows. Threads were cut. Feathers flew. The room momentarily looked like it was snowing.

The puppy had long fainted in shock in Joshua's arms.

"Marisa!" Joshua yelled. "It's just a puppy!"

She stared at the ball of fur that had passed out and was now comfortably lying in a state of unconsciousness in Joshua's arms.

"I. Don't. Like. Puppies." She shuddered as she thought of the wet slobbering tongue massaging her ear a moment ago. "Annoying little whiny things…"

Joshua looked slightly crestfallen and just a little bit annoyed. "Fine," he sighed. "I was going to give it to you as a present, until you tried to kill it." He massaged the poor puppy's stomach gently. "Poor puppy, I might as well give you to Natasha. At least she has a kind heart…"

_Natasha, Natasha and Natasha. Always Natasha. He and his Natasha._

"Fine!" She said icily. "Then get out and leave me alone! Go find your Natasha!" She threw the blankets over herself.

Joshua looked wide-eyed at her outburst. "Sheesh," he muttered. "So temperamental today…are you like…you know…at that time of the month?"

Scarcely had the words left his month he was rewarded with a forceful kick to his shin. "Oww!" He groaned, nearly dropping the puppy. "Oww…Lucky you missed…"

"Yeah," she said sarcastically. "Lucky I missed. Or else no more royal heirs of Jehanna."

_No more heirs with blond hair and blue eyes._

Joshua visibly paled at her subtle threat. "Okay, okay," he placated, putting prone puppy on a chair far away from her. "Then would you like to follow me? Today my schedule is completely free until the evening so we can have a sparring match, and play spin the bottle again if you want to."

"Sparring yes," she said getting out of bed with great reluctance. "Spin the bottle. No." As Joshua opened his mouth to protest, she continued. "Do it at your own risk."

Joshua shut his mouth again. _Wise choice. _"Okay, then. No spin the bottle. Meet you in the garden at 9."

* * *

The moment she stepped into the garden, a flash of silver slashed towards her. She leapt out of harm's way, her shamshir out the next second.

"I'm impressed," he marveled. Turning his sword hilt rapidly in his hilt, he created a wheel of swords, sharp, deadly and fast, and advanced towards her. She frowned. It would be difficult to break this threat without getting herself hurt. If she thrust her sword into his attack, she would risk his sword giving her a nasty jab in the hand.

Moving her own shamshir in a similar fashion, she interlocked his sword with hers, creating another wheel of blades.

"Did I tell you?" Joshua grinned. He seemed completely relaxed in the face of the visible danger in his hands. "Loser will owe the winner a forfeit. Like in a bet." He noticed the doubtful expression on her face. "Otherwise we stop."

She nodded. As long as he put up a good fight, she would acquiesce his demands, as long as they were not too unreasonable.

Their swords had entangled in a mass of shimmering blades. Except from what they felt on their hands, it was almost impossible to know which sword was his and which was her shamshir.

A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and dripped onto the grass from her chin. Similarly, she could see his brows knitted together in fierce concentration, droplets of sweat gathering on his nose.

Faster and faster they turned their swords…faster…faster…All they could see were two interlocking silver circles now. All they had to do was wait for the right moment…

…and pull. With a deft flick of her wrist, she retracted her shamshir from the silver circle, which had begun giving off sparks. With a terrible screeching sound, Joshua's sword slid against the blade of her shamshir and flew out of his hand, flying in a smooth arc.

The blade sunk into the earth, the force of its fall burying the sword nearly up to the hilt. Joshua attempted to retrieve his sword, but she stopped him by positioning the tip of her shamshir right above his chest.

"Checkmate," she said softly, a hint of satisfaction spreading across her face. It had been a bizarre sparring session, with the conventional swordplay discarded, but it had nonetheless been exhilarating. Earning a sweet victory over him fair and square was an added bonus.

He looked stunned for a moment before laughing. "Well, well," he mused. "The queen has overthrown the king and usurped the throne. Checkmate indeed…so what would you like me to do as my forfeit?"

She frowned, there was nothing as yet that she wanted from him, nothing tangible like a new wardrobe or a diamond necklace. But there was one thing that maybe he could give her…

"I want you to spar with me everyday," she said solemnly. "Beside the cherry tree in the garden at the back, we'll meet and sharpen our skills with each other's blade."

He shrugged. "I'm certainly okay with that. I'm sure we could work out a schedule that will give us some time to spend together everyday."

She nodded as she sheathed her sword. Turning she prepared to leave.

"Hey!" He sprang up from where he was still lying on the ground. "Leaving so fast? We just came in!"

She turned and glared at him. "Lunch is going to be served in half an hour. Don't tell me you are thinking of skipping?"

He waved his hand casually, dismissing her point. "I asked the chef to help us prepare a picnic. And as for mother, I have already informed her."

True to his words, an attendant came forth, carrying a silver tray with a heavy-looking bamboo basket covered by a square piece of white silk. "Your lunches, your highness." With a bow, the attendant placed the tray on the grass and left, leaving her alone with Joshua in the garden.

As she sat gingerly on the grass, he busied himself with emptying out the basket.

"We have…let's see…sandwiches," he said as he took out the food items (neatly wrapped in foil) and placed them on the tray. The basket he had long tossed carelessly away. "Noodles…mashed potatoes…a cherry tart and a nice bottle of lemonade." He said triumphantly as he surveyed the array of food before him.

"Cherry tart?" She bit into a sandwich and chewed slowly. _Hmm…not bad for picnic food…_The cherry tart sounded most promising amongst all the food.

"Mmhmm…" Joshua started on his noodles, making loud slurping noises as he ate. "Ahh…this is awesome…" He noticed her staring, sandwich forgotten in her hand, and he grinned. "Come on! We'll probably never get another chance like this again. Finally! I can slurp without Mother rapping my head with her chopsticks!" He gave her another grin before he dug in again. "I hope you aren't against my bad dining etiquette? I never did like all those antiquated rules and regulations." He took another loud slurp. "They are so restrictive and annoying…"

She chuckled. She felt exactly the same way.

Somehow, she felt as though this was the real him. Without all the stiff rules, the austerity in the air, the heavy demands placed on his shoulders, he seemed even more affable, sincere and real.

Deep down in her heart, she suddenly awoke to the fact that in truth, he was another person like just her, forced by circumstances into a place where he never did choose to be in, or want to be in. Perhaps, he was just as lonely as she was. Perhaps he longed for freedom just as much she did. Perhaps in the centre of everything, he was just another individual like her, drifting in life's current, looking for a lifeline, searching for their light.

The sudden awakening made her see the facet of him she had always ignored, and it helped her understand him.

And the more she understood him, the more comforting she found him to be.

* * *

"Is there food on my face?" Joshua pointed at his cheek, before waving his hand rapidly in front on her eyes. "Hey, Marisa? Why are you staring at me?"

His words jolted her out of her reverie. She had been gnawing on her chopsticks without even realizing it. "Oh, umm…nothing," she said hurriedly, feeling a warm blush creeping into her cheeks. It was embarrassing to be caught chewing on your utensils. It was very embarrassing to be caught staring vacantly. It was even more embarrassing to be caught staring vacantly at someone else's face.

If he found her behaviour peculiar, he did not voice it. "We have the cherry tart left," he said, unwrapping the cherry tart and sniffing it delicately. "And I must say, the chef's desserts are always so excellent and tempting." He handed her a silver knife. "Here," he continued generously. "You can have the first slice. Tell me whether it tastes as good as it looks and smells."

The fruity aroma of the sweet dessert was already flooding her olfactory sense, giving her unspoken but assured promises of a heavenly sensory treat. The knife made two clean cuts, and the dark wine-coloured juice dripped from the blade.

She lifted the piece of cherry tart daintily to her mouth. The moment the cherry tart reached its destination; her taste buds were instantly gifted with an overwhelming sense of pleasure. The pastry was of the right thickness, and of the right sweetness. The cherries, delightfully soft from cooking, were large and full in their ripeness. When she bit into them, the sugary juice ran over her lips, over tongue, down her throat, with just the correct feel of sour aftertaste that left a pleasant lingering taste in her mouth even after she had swallowed.

In spite of herself, she moaned. The cherry tart was surely a divine work of a master pastry artisan, and she was a mere mortal with the fortune to be on the receiving end of his talents. She felt as though she had propelled into sheer heaven, that purple empire where cherry trees heavy with succulent plump fruit adorned every corner.

Several crumbs on still stuck on her hand, and the cherry juice still stained her lips. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she licked the crumbs off with her tongue. "Joshua…" she said, flushed from the overwhelming experience that had left her breathless and craving for more. "You _must_ try this…"

He was staring unblinking at her, the grin gone from his face. His eyes were no longer crimson, but instead bordered on maroon. It was her turn to lift her hand (the one that had just been cleaned of the divine crumbs) and wave it before his eyes. "Joshua? Are you-"

Her words were cut off but a pair of lips against hers. His tongue slowly made its way across her lips, licking the cherry juice slowly but sensually.

Her eyes wide open, she opened her mouth to protest. No sooner had her mouth opened by a tiny crack; his tongue had darted into her mouth. It ran across the inside of her mouth, back to her lips, back inside her mouth…He gave her no chance to reject him, exploiting her shocked state to the maximum. His tongue stroked her tongue gently, teasing her, sending little shivers down her spine.

Once the initial surprise wore off, the alarm bells in her head sounded shrilly, demanding for her to reject his advances, to pull away from him, to push him away from her. But her brain seemed to cease its control on her body, as she found herself responding gradually to his ministrations.

Finally, he pulled away, panting.

She was lying on the grass, while he had lifted himself off her. Both of them were breathing heavily, their breaths coming out in short puffs. A little fearfully, she touched her lips. They were warm from his mouth, and slightly swollen.

_What did this mean for the both of them?_

Slowly, she sat up. A million questions were racing through her mind. He sat next to her, not looking at her. The look on his face was one of utter seriousness, and if her intuition was accurate, he was just as shocked and disorientated as she was.

A tense silence descended between the two of them. Neither touched the cherry pie, which was still lying on the silver tray.

After much deliberation, she picked herself up with as much dignity as she muster, patted the grass from her robes and walked out of the garden.

_What just happened?_

With a heavy heart, she acknowledged that although Joshua was gracious and reassuring, at times his behaviour never ceased to frighten her.

_What exactly just happened? _

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Hehe. This was meant to be a nice short little chapter that was sweet. But in the end, fangirlism prevailed and turned it into a steamy chapter. Sorry, I'm a bit irrational now. JOSHUAMARISA FOREVER! *heart heart heart***

**Sorry. **

**snowylavendermist**


	10. Shackles of Uncertainty

**Shackles of Uncertainty**

_Our lives are governed pretty much by uncertainty. The future is always a mystery; what others are thinking is an enigma, and tomorrow is forever an unknown. Thus, it is certain that everyone, deep down, has some form of uncertainty in his or her heart. And this very uncertainty causes him/her to tread lightly, watch her step. It influences her life, her decisions, and ultimately her future. _

_But what if that uncertainty is unfounded?_It was the day of the ball at Renais Castle, and as the princess, Marisa was supposed to play her part as a representative of Jehanna, which meant engaging in diplomatic conversation with the other princesses and queens, ballroom dancing with the other kings and princes and generally watching in boredom as the night dragged on.

* * *

She had just taken a bath, complete with the bath salts that made her skin tingle and the warm water that made her sigh. Being princess was a chore, but it also meant the finest of material comforts and the zenith of luxury.

There was a polite knock on the door. "Your highness," an attendant called. Opening the door, the attendant did a perfect 90-degree bow. "You have a guest who came calling while you were bathing. He did not give a name, but he is currently waiting in the Hall of Harmony. Would your highness receive him?"

_It must be Gerik. _She smiled at the thought of meeting her old acquaintances. _How thoughtful of them to visit me every now and then. _"I'll be there is a short while."

As she changed into a light summer robe, she hummed happily to herself. Gerik was always so timely! His visit would help bring some cheer into her gloomy and miserable day, and it would give her something to mull over during the uneventful hours of the ball.

However, the door opened to reveal a person who was not at all Gerik.

"Saleh?"

Said sage stood and bowed towards her. He looked even more haggard and tired than the last time she had seen him, but the slight smile on his face seemed to light up his appearance. "Marisa, princess," he greeted graciously. "The lady said you were busy, and I apologise to have interrupted you."

She smiled. "None of the formalities, Saleh." She took a seat on the couch beside him. "You're making me embarrassed. How's everyone?"

"Everyone's fine," Saleh frowned. "But the aim of my visit today is not about us. It's about you."

"Me?" She cocked her head.

Sighing, he took a careful sip of the tea. Replacing the cup and the saucer on the table, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "You shouldn't have married him, Marisa," he explained. "I did some research on Prince Joshua, and all I can say is that he is a philanderer and a gambler. For the gambling aspect, I believe you are aware of that already. He frequents gambling dens and makes bets with his subjects, often involving large sums of money as wagers. For the philandering portion…I'm not sure if I shall say it." He glanced at her swiftly.

"…" She swallowed. "Just say it." It was better to know what her husband had been doing rather than be kept in the dark like a fool.

"Well…The prince has been romantically linked to several women, many of whom he has been keeping up correspondences," Saleh uttered, choosing his words carefully. "He was known to be on intimate terms with the princess of Rausten, Princess L'Arachel. He has been sending her regular letters, the envelope bearing the royal seal, the contents of dubious nature that no one has yet confirmed. The more recent one was his affair with Natasha, a cleric in this very palace. It was said that the rumour spread so fast that the queen personally intervened to halt the remarks of her son's moral character. People claim that the prince proposed to Natasha, only that she rejected his proposal…"

With every word Saleh said, she turned a shade paler. Thus, when he finished, her face was as white as her robe, with all the blood drained. Tightly, she gripped the arm of the couch, trying to keep herself from trembling. "So is it true?" she demanded, her gaze boring into Saleh's. "Is it?"

"I wish to refute it, Marisa," Saleh sighed sadly. "But my sources…they have been accurate so far…"

The world around her was spinning. She stood up and took an unsteady step, her eyes vacant. Her hands played nervously with the flowing sash of her gown, jerking furiously.

She sat down again on the couch heavily with her mouth slightly agape. Her lips trembled; she attempted to speak but no sound came out. Her mouth was too dry, almost parched.

With shaking hands, she reached for her cup of tea. Her cup with half-empty by the time the ceramic touched her lips, half the contents having spilled out onto the saucer. She replaced the empty cup jerkily. No, the tea did nothing to assuage the arid feel of her mouth.

"Marisa?" Saleh asked, looking concerned. "Are you alright? Did I…I should have never said all that I had just spilled…"

"No!" The loudness of her voice startled him as it startled her. "I mean…I'm alright. It just…takes time for everything to sink in…"

She tried to calm herself down by taking a deep breath, then soaking up the spilt tea with a generous handful of napkins. She propped up the cushions, patted the couch, straightened her robes, and tucked back her flyaway hairs. Finally, having run out of things to fuss over, she settled back onto the couch beside Saleh in a gloomy silence, deliberating all that she had just heard.

_So that time when I overheard the two clerics gossiping…it was the truth…that stupid egocentric selfish heartless bastard! _She thought furiously. _If he already has the attention and affection of so many women, why did he marry me? Why can't he marry one of his many girlfriends? And why deceive me? Why make me feel comfortable with him? Is the companionship of his harem not sufficient?_

"I wished I stopped you," Saleh sighed.

"Sorry?" She looked at him curiously.

"I could have stopped you from being married to this jerk," Saleh explained. "That day when you came to me, I could have stopped you from leaving. Then, you would never land in this predication." His voice was reduced to a fluttering whisper. "Maybe we could still be working on missions…maybe we could still be picking the cherries from the old cherry tree by the river…" His hand had grasped hers. "Maybe…maybe we could start something new together…"

She pondered his words, his actions and his expressions. Finally the pieces fell into place. "Saleh…" Her tongue caressed his name like the winter wind stroking the last chrysanthemum blooms, soft and soothing, but with a deep underlying sorrow and despair. "Saleh…"

What could have been was too late. It was too late to cherish the cherry blossoms after they faded. It was too late to try and love someone once they were out of their reach.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She was anguished, hot tears springing to her eyes. She refused to let them fall; it was not the time to be weak. "Why…" If he had professed earlier, maybe their destinies would be rewritten. Maybe, as he had suggested, they could currently be sitting on the cherry tree, savouring the fruits and sharing the lemonade from his flask.

There were too many maybes, and too many ifs. And love was not dependent on maybe and if. It was an opportunity, a chance in the path of time. Once the time had passed, the opportunity was lost, the love had never blossomed, and it never would again.

_Time and tides wait for no man. Or woman._

All she felt was a cold anguish, a scorching sense of emptiness at how different her destiny could have been.

Slowly, she stood up, ringing the bell for the attendant to show Saleh out in spite of his polite but firm protests. She had had enough to bear for one day, and there was still the ball in the evening to prepare for.

Sometimes, even those with the strongest of hearts need to run away.

* * *

She sat solemnly in her seat, in a little alcove of peace created by the gentle fall of the sweeping satin curtain. Her fan had long been forgotten on the table beside her. Her cup of tea lay still and untouched, growing colder by the minute. She smoothed the wrinkles of her cream silk robes, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sheer extravagance of the simple dress, which could have fed a typical family of four for three days. A conspicuous heinous piece of patchwork created by gluing feathers, sequins and gemstones together (which they called a mask) cast a shadow over her face.

Joshua was traipsing across the ballroom, a glass of wine in one hand and the other holding the hand of some blushing beauty he was currently flattering. He leaned closer to the maiden's ear and whispered a few words to her, causing her face to turn a ripe shade of red. She giggled at his words.

Looking satisfied at having made his companion laugh, he turned his head around, his gaze sweeping over the ballroom and landing on her. He pointedly caught her gaze and winked.

Forcibly turning her gaze away, she scrutinized the various occupants of the ballroom. Amongst the most prominent were King Innes of Frelia and his wife, Vanessa. King Innes appeared to be engaged in a heated verbal spar with King Ephraim of Renais, his host, while Vanessa and King Ephraim's wife, Tana, attempted to calm the two arguing lords down.

"We Frelians would never engage in foolish behaviour and thus we will never send reinforcements if you shall insist on provoking Grado by yourself, Ephraim," Innes said loftily, although his tone had an undercurrent of anger.

"Well then, Innes," Ephraim responded. "Would you rather have your kingdom blazed to the ground than take firm action? Is pre-emptive strike not better than retaliating after they have infiltrated our land?"

"They will never infiltrate Frelia; our security is one of the tightest in Magvel," Innes retorted scornfully. "If Renais has not been doing their homework and keeping a close eye on their borders, however…" He trailed off in a derisive snicker.

"We keep a _very_ close eye on our border, thank you very much for your royal concern," Ephraim replied, mimicking Innes' tone. The sarcasm in his voice caused a ripple of laughter amongst those listening. "However, our scouts are alarmed that Grado is stationing increasing numbers of armed forces at the borders, and thus we have need to prepare for war."

"That's incredulous!" Innes cried. "Magvel has been in peace for the past millennium and you say that this war is going to break out? Impossible! The treaties signed by our forefathers would dictate the peace in black and white, never to be shattered."

"Yes," Ephraim said heavily. "But treaties are just promises, ink on paper. They can be torn, destroyed, burnt, thrown away and violated. There have been broken promises in this world and I am certain there will be."

Innes frowned. The idea of war evidently was repugnant to him. "But are you sure of Grado's intentions? It is unwise to march into another's land and conquer their soil, only to discover everything was a misunderstanding."

"There is no mistake," Ephraim reaffirmed. "The spies were no mistakes. The turmoil at the borders is no mistake. The danger that is looming over all of us is no mistake. We need to do this at a heavy cost, because other option would prove even costlier."

Innes fell silent, frowning as he mentally weighed the possible costs of each option. Renais and Frelia had been long-time allies, agreeing to help each other in times of need. However, as the respective leaders of their countries, the interests of their own nations took precedence over crumbling pieces of agreements on yellowed parchment.

"In the event that Renais falls," Ephraim enunciated clearly. "Your only buffer against Grado is gone, Innes. What will you do then?" He took a step back. "My fellow lords and ladies, kings and queens, we face a great threat from Grado, and I am certain everyone has already experienced the insidious attempts of the Grado spies. It is evident Magvel is on the border of war, and there is no turning back. Either we prepare and stand together, or we fall one by one." He turned and asked a heavily-built short man with green gelled hair. "Lord Dozla, as imperial advisor to the King of Rausten, do you believe that after Renais has fallen, Grado will be contented?"

Dozla grunted. "No, probably would carry on to devour us."

"Exactly!" Ephraim brought his fist crashing down onto the table, causing a few wine glasses to leap. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is not Renais' battle alone; it is our fight, our war. Thus, I hereby beseech everyone to be always on your guard, and to support each other should the worst occur."

The ballroom was silent, as everyone watched Ephraim down his wine in a single gulp. The possibility of war was distant, yet so near. From the faces of most of the lords and ladies, they had not even considered the probability of danger in the near future.

Ephraim looked at his mute audience, then shrugged awkwardly. "Well, at least somebody was listening," he grinned, clapping his hands to ask the orchestra to strike up a lively tune once again.

Acting as though the possibility of war vanished again beyond the horizon, the lords and ladies resumed their idle chatter and twirled in pairs across the ballroom. The atmosphere returned to what it had originally been like before Ephraim dropped the bombshell.

_These people…if Grado does invade, half of them will perish due to sheer ill-preparedness…_Marisa thought in disgust as she pondered all that Ephraim had said. _Vigilance seems like a non-existent word in their vast vocabulary…how tragic._

* * *

As the night progressed, the ballroom became progressively noisier as the guests grew progressively drunk.

"Hello beauteous maiden…care for a dance?" A plump drunken lord in bright blue waistcoat slurred as he staggered past her.

She turnd away from his outstretched hand, fingers laden with heavy rings, and sneered in disgust.

Taking the hint, the drunken lord staggered away, in search for other young and available prey.

Sighing, she removed her mask. It was getting warm in the corner where she was sitting, and the thick fabric of her robes was not helping.

"Hello! I am L'Arachel! Who are you?" She heard someone yell. She turned around to see a young princess with light green hair, decked in a six-tier white ball gown, plunging into the empty seat next to hers.

"That's the new princess of Jehanna, Princess L'Arachel," the man who had previously been identified as Dozla bowed as he said.

"Oh…so you're Joshua's wife…" L'Arachel leant forward and scrutinized her face. "Humph…I knew I was the fairest one in this ballroom!" she proclaimed with an generous hand gesture.

"Princess!" Dozla threw his arms into the air in horror. "What a thing to say!"

Marisa eyes their exchange silently. So this was the famous L'Arachel…She was, needless to say, very beautiful, and she had a svelte figure, but there was something lacking in her that did not make her seem quite like a princess. Was it the flamboyance, or the shrill high-pitched voice?

"Well, I didn't say anything wrong, did I?" L'Arachel folded her arms. "Well, don't worry dear, you're quite pretty too. I'm happy that Joshua has finally found someone lovely he can stay with. That man needs some feminine charm in his life!"

Marisa raised her eyebrows at L'Arachel's proclamation. The princess of Rausten was…certainly very outspoken, and pretty vulgar at that.

"Oh! I think I see someone I can go talk to…" L'Arachel squealed as she spied a tall man in a black suit walk pass. "Come on Dozla, let's go say hi to Senator Brandon! I can't believe Carcino came as well!" She gave Marisa a friendly wave. "See you around, darling!"

_What a…weird woman…_

And so ended the only diplomatic introductory conversation she conducted that evening. Technically, with it being a monologue monopolized mainly by L'Arachel, one could not even label it a conversation.

* * *

Her back was stiff from staying as straight as a poker for the past four hours. Pins and needles were painfully causing sharp pricks in her legs now and then. Her waist ached from the constricting sash of the dress, tied around her waist. Her feet hurt from wearing long hours of dainty little slippers that did little to cushion her weight.

Everyone else was either dancing, still engaging in diplomatic banter (such as Ephraim and Innes), or had slumped in the chairs and on the couches, eyes glazed from intoxication.

She wondered if she should go and take a walk in the famed gardens of Renais and indulge herself in the evening wind outside of this stuffy ballroom.

A hand clapped over her mouth from behind all of a sudden. Another hand shot out swiftly and grabbed her waist, pulling her behind the curtains.

She pulled at her assailant's hands with all her might, but to no avail. She attempted to kick him in his shins, but he swiftly dodged her kicks. She struggled, shaking herself violently, but he latched on fast, refusing to let go. She could feel his muscles rippling as he fought to contain her.

She fought harder, thrashing.

"For Saint Elimine's sake, Marisa!" A voice hissed out of the darkness.

She recognized that voice and froze. "Rennac?" She stopped struggling in surprise and annoyance. "Is that you?"

The strong pair of arms holding her captive released her swiftly. She spun around and found herself staring at Rennac, clothed in a plain but classy black suit and an open white Oxford shirt. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Completely unruffled, he stared at her, grinning.

"Why did you kidnap me?" She hissed angrily. "I mistook that you were another assassin."

"Tsk tsk…" Rennac smirked, flirting effortlessly. "Didn't you smell my scent, princess? Didn't you feel your heart speed up while I was behind you?"

She rolled her eyes and aimed a kick at his shin. It hit, prompting a stifled cry of pain from him. "Why are you here?" She folded her arms across her chest. Flirtations did _not_ work with her.

"For that kick," he grumbled. "I'm not telling you."

"Do you want another one?" she threatened, raising her foot.

"I'm princess L'Arachel's escort," he said simply, raising his hands in defeat. "Geez, you kick really hard for a woman."

"Escort?" she raised an eyebrow. "I thought Dozla would be her escort? He follows her around everywhere."

"Mmhmm…maybe…" he shrugged nonchalantly. "He follows her like a puppy following its master…I'm not that devoted and dumb." He proffered his hand. "Come, this place is stifling."

"Now you know…" she muttered, taking his hand.

"Want to dance, my fair princess?" Rennac bent low over her hand once they re-entered the light and music. "This poor swine begs a dance of your ravishing and gorgeous royal highness of Jehanna."

She blushed, but laughed at the absurdity of his statement and the mockery of his voice. "Sorry, I don't dance." She gave an apologetic smile. "I'm not good at it."

"If you are embarrassed by the crowd," Rennac suggested, persisting. "We could always head to the private balconies, where we could draw the curtains and still dance to the music."

"Won't that be a little…" She trailed off as he dragged her off to the nearest balcony and drew the curtains in a swift motion. "…scandalous?"

Heart beating faster and faster, she placed one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand and stepped with the music.

It was a slow waltz. In the main hall, the orchestra played slowly, a romantically slow tune that gave partners plenty of time to enjoy each other's company.

She let him lead her in tune to the music, moving as gracefully as her innate clumsy nature allowed her to. Her palms were sweating in sheer nervousness, and she extremely relieved that she was wearing silk gloves. She looked down, refusing to meet his gaze lest he see her nervousness.

"You're not bad at this, you know…" Rennac broke the silence. "For a beginner, this is pretty good."

She nodded mutely in thanks, blushing. This was so awkward…if anyone were to see them…

"What did L'Arachel say to you?" he asked out of the blue.

She raised an eyebrow at his random question. "She said…that she was the princess of Rausten, and that I was pretty, but that she was the fairest lady in the ballroom."

He laughed dryly. "That last part sounded exactly like what she would say to a person she was just introduced to. Her vanity astounds me."

She shrugged and looked away. It was not in her position, as the representative of Jehanna, to say anything loaded that could be interpreted in the wrong manner.

They waltzed in silence, swaying gently to the music. The evening wind was cool, and it chaffed her cheeks till they were as cold and smooth as marble. The scent of night roses wafted to her nose.

With a final spin, Rennac set her down gently on the ground. "I thank you, my princess, for gracing me with a dance." He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

"Rennac…" She flushed at his gesture and attempted to pull away, but to no avail. She tried harder. "What if someone sees us? I should go…"

"Indeed you should."

She spun around instantly. Rennac's hold on her hand slackened, and she freed her hands, keeping the offending pair of hands guiltily behind her back.

Joshua was leaning against one of the pillars, arms crossed tensely.

She wondered how long he had been standing there unnoticed, how much he had seen and heard. The darkness and the shadows that hid his face made it difficult to decipher his expression, but from the scathing tone of his voice, he had seen and heard just enough to misinterpret.

"Prince Joshua, of Jehanna," Rennac recovered from the shock first and bowed with mock politeness. "What a pleasure to see your royal highness. I was just enjoying lovely waltz with your exquisite consort, seeing as your royal highness was…occupied with other pressing matters."

Joshua laughed lightly, dismissing the biting sarcasm in Rennac's tone.

"I do not believe we have been introduced," Joshua returned the favour, scorn dripping from his voice. "But I thank you for taking excellent care of my wife while I was _pre-occupied_. But if you do not object, I would like to spend some time with my wife now, _alone_."

Rennac shrugged casually. "I did think of escorting Princess Marisa back into your royal highness' arms, but I could not find your highness amongst the harems of womenfolk, so I decided instead to entertain your consort with a paltry dance."

Joshua laughed again. "Well then, it is little wonder you could not find me," he replied smoothly. "The harems of womenfolk are places I always take pains to avoid. Perhaps you could attempt Ephraim and Innes next time? I do enjoy diplomatic banter more than idle chatter."

Rennac bowed gracefully. "I'll take note of that your royal highness. I thank you for bestowing upon me the opportunity to dance with your consort this evening. Good day."

"Good day to you too…?"

"Rennac. Pleased to be of service."

Marisa watched Rennac slowly exit the balcony, taking slow but large strides in a scathing mimicry of the way the nobility walked.

Joshua eyed Rennac critically before turning his attention back to her. He looked at her expressionlessly, as though waiting for her to explain.

When she remained silent, he sighed. "The ball is ending soon. Let's go back, shall we?" Without waiting for her consent, he took her hand and led her out of the ballroom, straight to their waiting horses. He even forgot to exchange the customary farewells with Ephraim and Tana.

* * *

She trudged into their common room, very much worn out by the evening's activities. She wanted little more than a warm bath, a soft bed and an uninterrupted sleep all the way till tomorrow noon.

"Wait," Joshua commanded. There was an angry edge to his voice.

She spun around, annoyed. She was tired and cold, and she wanted desperately to sleep. "Say it in the morning," she snapped, turning to leave.

He sprinted forward and wedged himself between her and the door. "No," he said solemnly. "I have questions, and I want the answers today, now."

"If you are asking about my dancing with Rennac, it wasn't like what you imagine it to be," she seethed. "Go away."

"No," he replied, grabbing the door handle tightly. "Do you know how improper it was for you to leave with a stranger like that? Do you know how scandalous it is to dance with another man in a private balcony?"

"Well," she retorted. "You seemed to be rather _pre-occupied_ dancing with other ladies so we were certain you would not miss my presence."

"I'm doing what my position as a prince demands of me!" Joshua slammed his fist against the door.

"Well, then I too was doing what that was demanded of me," she argued. "I see no wrong in dancing with someone at a ball."

"It's not the dancing or the person that's wrong!" He threw his hands into the air in fury. "It's the fact that you disappeared with a stranger to somewhere _private_. Do you know how much gossip would be generated out of this?"

"He's not a stranger; he's a friend," she shot back. "Besides, I don't care what they say about me."

"Well, _I _care!" Joshua shouted. "Jehanna cares! Even if you are oblivious to the scandal you have caused, others don't have it so easy! How will the other countries view Jehanna? How do you expect me to walk amongst the other lords and princes with my head raised?"

His words shocked her. She was momentarily struck silent. She contemplated briefly, the thoughts clouding her mind. She listened to their deep and heavy breathing, both worn out from arguing.

"So it is about you," she mused, nodding her head. "It's always about you, about Jehanna. I dance with a friend, and I am betraying you, betraying Jehanna. You can dance with any girl you want, converse with any maiden you desire, and you are still acting on the interests of Jehanna." She nodded, cracking a bitter smile. "There's no point in arguing any further, is there? Whatever you do is right; I do the same, yet I am faulted for it."

"No, that's not what I meant," Joshua defended in frustration. "I just meant that-"

She took off her wedding ring in a silent fury, then walked over to the fireplace. Without hesitation, she threw it into the blazing fire. That completed, she walked over to him and, taking advantage of his shock and horror, pushed him aside and reached for the door handle.

She slammed the door in his face, locking it. "Double standards…" she muttered resignedly.

Forget the bath; forget the sleep. All she wanted to do now was to get out of this nightmare. A philandering husband, a dangerous predicament, a position she detested, separation from her friends…

She sighed. She was going to need a sleeping pill or two in order to sleep tonight.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

** Woohoo! Their first major argument! Yeah! :D All lovely couples quarrel/misunderstand. Think TanaEphraim, JoshuaMarisa, EirikaSeth, InnesVanessa...WilRebecca, RavenLucius(XD), FarinaDart, HarkenIsadora etc etc etc. **

**Bored...going to write more. Going to post the next chapter very soon, hopefully.**

**Love ~ snowylavendermist**


	11. Shackles of Loyalty

**Shackles of Loyalty**

_Even for the most treacherous fellow, there is some loyalty inside him or her, be it loyalty to his country, his people, his family, his lover, money, status, ideology...There are so many things that one can be loyal to, and there are so many things one can betray, with so many unknown repurcussions, unforeseen consequences._

_But one thing is for sure, loyalty refers to the steadiness of one's affection and dedication towards something, sometimes bordering on devotion. And that devotion restricts our behaviour. others' behaviour, making us do certain things, say certain words, act in certain ways._

_May our loyalty to what is true to us never waver._Marisa tossed and turned that night. Hard as she tried, sleep evaded her for long hours, with the result of her climbing out of her bed at six in the morning. As she drew her curtains, she noticed that the first rays of the sun had stained the clouds by the horizon lovely shades of peach and orange.

* * *

Tiptoeing, she made her way silently out of her room, out of the common room and through the corridors. Her slippers made no sound against the wooden floor, and it was unlikely that anyone would be wide awake this early in the morning, save the guards, who were supposed to be doing night duty at their stations. Breakfast was not until nine, and many of the servants, even the cooks, gave themselves the liberty of sleeping until seven before waking and preparing the day's duties.

She wandered around aimlessly, enjoying the brief peace and quiet. She thought about her quarrel with Joshua last night, and her eyebrows knitted together into a frown. If Saleh was right about him, she had married little more than a gambling and womanizing scoundrel who took advantage of her father's debts to marry her, then took advantage of their marriage to secure his own throne. Not to mention that he was jealously possessive, and a man who employed different standards for himself and others around him.

She rolled her eyes at the long list of virtues her husband possessed before mentally chided herself for warming up towards him during the past few weeks. She wondered when he would ascend the throne, and cheered up at the thought of her freedom once he became king.

The cold air hit her full on the face as she walked by the entrance to the dungeon. The door had been carelessly left open by the guards who were on duty last night and were currently napping at their stations. She grimaced at their tardiness and their lack of responsibility and coughed lightly.

The noise she made woke one of the guards. He jumped when he saw her, and quickly nudged his fellow companions who were still sleeping. Stirring, they too leapt up when they saw her. Together, they bowed nervously, their faces aflame with embarrassment.

With a casual wave of her hand, she released them from further embarrassment by signaling to them to resume their duties. Slowly, she made her way down the moss-covered stairs leading into the dungeon.

The dungeons were mostly empty. Common criminals were kept in the state prison, on the outskirts of the country where few ventured to. The palace dungeons were for political criminals and assassins, to facilitate interrogation by the palace officials and ministers of necessary. As such, thanks to long period of peace and prosperity the world had previously enjoyed, the prisons were very much unused. Thick layers of dust coated the floor and the prison bars, and cold water dripped from leaks in the ceiling.

She saw that the last cell was occupied. The occupant, the spy who had wounded her, was huddled on the cold stone floor, with nothing to keep himself warm from the draught besides a thin layer of moldy straw. He was still wearing the dark green robes from that day, but the purple mask had been ripped from his face. His features were swollen and half of his was face was buried in the straw, making it difficult to see his visage.

She signaled the guard. "Could you unlock this cell?"

The guard hesitated. "Your highness wishes to visit this criminal?" he hesitated. "He is known to be rough and violent… when Prime Minister Alexander last came…"

"I will call for you if he becomes unmanageable," she reassured. "And I won't stay long." She lowered her voice. "I won't tell the prince about your slacking off during guard duty."

The guard evidently looked relieved, and he reached for the keys, using which he unlocked the heavy metal door. Opening the door, he bowed and let her in before locking the door again.

The spy had stirred when he heard her conversing with the guards, and now he sat upright, fully awake. There was anxiety, nervousness and fear in his eyes, but there was also no mistaking the curiosity and burning pride in his gaze.

"You are Princess Marisa," he croaked. Even with his hoarse voice, she still could still discern the faint trace of aristocratic accent in his speech, and the cool contempt. "What do you want?" He crossed his arms defiantly and sneered at her. "Came to take revenge for me making that scar on your shoulder?"

The guard was right, this prisoner was unusually difficult and unmanageable, from his evident haughtiness to his downright rudeness. She shook her head without the slightest of expressions. "I want to talk to you."

"Talk?" He laughed hoarsely, uncrossing his arms and crossing them again. "Never Princess, will I betray anything of my country, of my master, or of my mission. Not even under the worst torture. So you can lift your skirts and traipse out of this stinking hellhole now."

"I don't believe in torture," she corrected. Indeed, she thought that torture was pretty much a useless instrument. It more or less killed the victim, or at best it maimed them mentally. What good was a deranged or dead person? Even if it did not succeed in anything else than causing them physical harm, it had the effect of shutting the mouths of the victims tighter.

"Well that's funny," the spy sniggered, spitting on the straw. "Your fine prime minister just came in last night with his horsewhip."

She was aghast. Who had allowed for his torture? Surely not Queen Ismaire…would Joshua have authorized it? She needed to speak to Sir Alexander about this matter when she next saw him.

"As I said, please leave, princess," the spy stretched and lay down on the floor of his cell once more. "You won't get anything out of a stone like me even if you play nice and innocent."

He was insufferable, intolerable and insolent. Sharply, she called the guards over. One of them came over, keys already in hand, a smug expression on face.

"Would your royal highness prefer to return to the comfort of the palace?" the guard was already placing the key in the lock. "I told your highness he was rude and violent." He unlocked the door and spat at the spy. "This way, your highness."

She did not budge. "Did Prime Minister Alexander come here last night?"

The guard bowed. "Yes your highness."

"Did he carry out torture of any form?"

The guard appeared visibly torn by the question. "That would…depend on what your highness defined as torture…" He chose his words carefully, knowing that he was treading on dangerous grounds.

"Did he whip the prisoner?" she demanded sharply.

"…"The guard hesitated, then confessed under her sharp glare. "Using his horsewhip."

_How dare he?_ She recoiled in silent fury at the deliberate cruelty of the prime minister. "Who authorized him to carry out the torture?"

"He mentioned that he got the permission from…" the guard hesitated again, obviously fearing for his head. "King Joshua gave him the nod."

White fury surged within her. _How dare Joshua do that?_ _How lowly he treats human life and the ones around him!_ Hearing it made her think of their argument last night, confirming her idea of Joshua, the cold-hearted slandering narrow-minded philanderer.

"You!" She pointed to the guard by the door. "Come and bring this man to the infirmary. He needs medical assistance."

The guards looked at each other incredulously and shook their heads unanimously. "We are sorry your highness," they apologised. "The queen herself had given orders that he was not to leave the cell regardless of circumstances until approved by herself."

She ground her teeth in irritation. _Damn the palace and its idiotic protocol! _"Fine!" she snapped. "Get a medical box from the infirmary, one that has the basic medical ointments and such! Then get something for this man to eat and drink from the kitchen! Wake the cooks if you have to, and tell them it's by my orders! And get a decent set of clothes for this man."

The guards bowed nervously and departed.

An awkward silence descended in the cell.

"…" The spy mused. She looked up to see him studying her closely. "You are different from the rest of them...You're not from the palace originally, are you?"

She was shocked, but managed to keep her expression neutral. "Maybe."

He shrugged. "The born nobles have a certain inborn trait of snobbishness. Mixed with them long enough to smell that. They would scarcely to care for the welfare of a servant, let alone a prisoner like myself. Torture is common in the dungeons of the nobles. Yet, you are averse to the very idea." He closed his eyes briefly and muttered lowly. "In the Grado Castle, we can't even sleep at night because of the tortured screams from the dungeons."

She felt uncomfortable, both by the astute observations of this spy and his descriptions of the torture of the Grado Castle. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images her imagination was bringing to her mind.

"Princess, here are the items you requested." The guards had returned.

She opened her eyes and accepted the items. She opened the compact medical kit and pulled out the bottle of ointment. "Take off your shirt," she commanded.

His eyes widened at her command. "You kidding?" he snickered, trying not to guffaw out loud. "Aren't you married?" He pointed to the doors of the dungeons, where the guards were prying and looking, hoping to get a glimpse of something.

"Look here any longer and I will report the load of you to Joshua for sleeping on duty," she threatened calmly. The peeping eyes and bobbing heads disappeared instantly. She turned back to the spy. "Now will you take off your shirt to let me dress your wounds? Or do you have more requirements?"

Hesitating, although there was a lingering smirk on his face, the spy took off the filthy green shirt he had been wearing. His torso was marked was various cruel-looking slashes, most likely made from a whip. Some were healing, but more looked fresh and red, with the blood newly crusted on the open flesh.

She washed the slashes with medicated water first, then smeared the ointment lightly on his wounds, taking care not to cause him further pain. The wounds closed up immediately after being smeared with the ointment, leaving an angry-looking red scar.

"You know…" The spy said. "If you really want to help me, why not look at my leg first?" She pulled up the legs of his pants, and she saw the wound that she had made on him that day with her dagger. It was heavily swollen and crusted with dried blood. Yellow and white pus oozed from the obviously infected wound.

" Should I amputate it?" The spy joked humorlessly. "Joy, I _love _being an invalid."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up," she said irritably, poking her finger hard at the wound. He winced in pain and shut up immediately.

Taking the disinfectant from the medical kit, she poured the alcohol on the wound. He clenched his teeth, and a vein throbbed in his temple, but not a sound passed his lips even though the pain must have been intense.

Silently admiring his bravery, she took a clean cotton wad and cleansed the pus from his wound. When she was satisfied, she proceeded to smear the ointment over the wound, generously covering the entire expense of the injury with a thick layer of the lotion. Finally, using a roll of soft white muslim silk, she bandaged the wound on his leg. "Here," she kept the medical kit and pushed the food and wine before him. "Eat."

There were bread and butter, cheese, rice, sausages and some bacon. The guards had also brought along a bottle of wine.

"Oh God!" The spy muttered. "To think that it was their leftovers before this…" He pointed an accusing finger at the guards at the doors.

Obviously starved, he fell on the banquet before him, gulping down the bread and butter and guzzling the wine. She waited silently until he had completed his meal, then laid out the clean set of clothing on the straw. "Change into this afterwards." Finishing her task, she turned to leave the cell when he called her.

"Hey your highness!" he called. "Why are you being so courteous to prisoners all of a sudden?"

She paused. "That's compensation for my husband and my prime minister's mistreatment," she replied icily. "Take it as an apology."

"Hey! Then don't you want to know anything?" he pressed further.

She halted. "What can you give me?"

The spy grinned, for the first time since she entered the cell. "Not much for now, but I may change my mind," he said pleasantly. "My name is Stefan. I am, surely you know by now, a citizen of Grado, and I am employed by the National Grado Spy Network."

She waited for him to continue, but he merely stayed quiet, and regarded her with a solemn curiosity. "That's all?" she frowned.

"That's all," he bowed slightly. "For now. I am still a loyal citizen of Grado thus far."

He seemed as though he was purposely baiting her, but why? She looked into his eyes, and while she saw an amicable look, she also saw the suspicion and caution that was weaved intently into his gaze. He was a true spy, through and through.

"Alright then," she shrugged and stood, brushing the straw from her robes. "I will not press you for information you do not wish to divulge."

He bowed as she went out of the cell.

She signaled to the guards. "You!" she ordered. "From now on, this man is to receive proper food and drink from the kitchens, no more scraps and leftovers. Straw must be provided amply, enough to cover the floor for two inches, but not so much that he suffocates in it. No torture of any form, no spitting, no abuse. If the prime minister comes here with his horsewhip please direct him to the stables. Horsewhips are for horses, not humans. If he refuses, direct him to me. Am I clear?"

The guards bowed to her. "Yes, your highness."

Throwing one last look at the spy, Stefan, now clad in brown, she ascended the stairs and entered the palace once again.

It was seven. The servants were just beginning to stir.

* * *

Marisa lay sprawled on the couch, trying to read one of the books she had picked up from the library. The book detailed the espionage system of Grado, as well as some of their tactics. Unfortunately, it included a chapter of the various forms of physical and psychological torture the Grado guards favoured. She was extremely disturbed by the vivid descriptions of the various torture procedures and closed the book in disgust, placing it carelessly on the coffee table.

The door opened suddenly, and a line of attendants streamed in, each carrying a silver tray with a covered silver plate. Placing their plates on the coffee table, they bowed to her and left the room in the same single file, carrying the empty silver tray this time.

She looked at the attendants in bewilderment. After they had completely left and the door was shut, she curiously lifted the lid of one of the silver plates.

It was a round cherry gateau, made with fluffy layers of sponge between layers of thick cherry jam. The cake was decorated with white whipped cream, and on the top of the cake was a thick layer of fresh cream. Individual dollops of cream adorned the edges of the cake, with a ripe wholesome cherry nestled in each dollop.

In spite of herself, she gasped in delight at the treat before her. Her fingers itched to scoop a dollop of cream. Her tongue longed to taste the smooth creamy texture of the cake mixed with the sweet and sour of the cherry.

As if by magic, a finger appeared before her, coated with a delightful layer of the whipped cream from the cake. Without thinking, she licked the whipped cream off the finger and sucked gently. The cake was _heavenly_. It was just as good, if not better than the cherry tart from the last time she had the picnic was Joshua. Her tongue licked happily at the finger, retracing the taste of the cream.

She bit back a moan of delight as two cream-covered fingers gently placed a cherry to her lips. The cherry was so full, bursting in fruity goodness, and the juice ran down her throat in a sweet sticky trail.

"Enjoying yourself?" A husky voice said behind her.

As though in a trance, she nodded dreamily and continued licking the remaining cream that still lingered on the fingers.

The fingers disappeared. Immediately, she felt this sense of loss over the disappearance of such a heavenly ambrosia, but before she could open her mouth to protest, a pair of lips covered hers, preventing her from voicing anything other than a guttural moan.

She closed her eyes as she licked the cream off the pair of lips. This was sheer temptation, and it was _really_ too much to her to take. She could feel herself crumbling under the combined effects of the sweet cherry offering, whipped cream coating and tender gentle kiss.

Only when his hand touched her waist did the rational side of her awake from its delicacy-induced slumber. Finding herself engaged in a fierce kiss, she pulled back instantly in shock and horror.

She looked into Joshua's eyes, which had turned a dark maroon, and stared at him in confusion. _What did I just do? Was the cake spiked or something? Why do I feel so dizzy and exhilarated? _

"What happened?" She managed to ask once she had regained some of her composure. She looked at the cake, whose perfection was now marred by the absence of a cherry and some of its immaculate cream decorations.

Joshua did not answer, neither did his gaze waver from her face. His eyes still possessed the same dark crimson colour. "I told Mother we would be having dinner privately today," he said in a throaty voice. "I asked the cook to prepare this banquet for specially for you."

Swiftly, he uncovered the plates. Cherry éclairs, cherry cupcakes, cherry tarts like the ones they had eaten last time, cherry cream puffs…it was a cherry paradise, with every possible cherry dish placed on a silver tray.

All this! For her!

For a moment, she felt touched at his gesture. It was really sweet of him to remember her favourite foods, and specially ask for the cooks to prepare it for her.

He was looking at her eagerly, a look of joyful anticipation on his face, as though waiting for her to give a cry of delight or smile of happiness. She thought he almost resembled a little puppy trying to please its master, and was waiting for the master's approval.

_What a role reversal…_she thought solemnly. He was the master, and she was the puppy on a leash named the oathpaper. _The master pleasing the puppy…he must have a motive behind this…_

She crossed her arms before her chest and stared at him coolly. "So?"

The smile of eager anticipation vanished from his face as she said the word, replaced by a frown on confusion and disappointment. "You don't like it?" He said, sounding crestfallen. He slowly replaced the silver lid he had been holding back onto the table. "Do you want to change? I can ask the cook to dish up something else that you like in a matter of a few minutes! What shall I ask him to change it to?"

She frowned. "Joshua, don't bother changing. The food is fine," she said irritably. "What do you want?"

He stared at her with wide-open eyes. The dark crimson had disappeared, replaced by the original ruby red. "What do you mean?" he questioned in bewilderment.

"Look. You must have a purpose for doing this right?" she huffed. "Is it another ball? Another game? Another what? What do you want? Just say it and then we can settle down for dinner."

He was dumbfounded for a moment or two. "I…just wanted…" he stuttered slowly. "I didn't want…" He combed a hand through his long hair in frustration. "I just wanted to apologise to you for yesterday, for yelling at you."

"That's all?" She said, eyeing the table contemptuously. _So all this…all this lavish feast is just a bribe…and I so nearly fell for it!_ "Well then, apology accepted. Ask the attendants to clear this and we can proceed to the dining room for dinner." She stood up from the couch.

"Wait!" He cried, grabbing her wrist. "I did want your forgiveness…but then this dinner too is specially prepared for you! You were enjoying it a while ago…we can sit and eat this together…can't we?"

"Look Joshua." She said furiously. Her temper was swiftly rising. "Just now I liked it because I didn't know what was the hidden agenda behind the dishes. Now that I know, I feel like throwing up everything that I had just eaten, especially all that cream you fed me. Let me go!"

He held on fast to her wrist. "No. Why can't we sit down and enjoy a dinner just like a normal couple? Why must we be so distant even when we are husband and wife?" he reasoned.

She turned back and looked at him when he said those words. She pictured him holding Natasha in his arms, kissing L'Arachel on her lips, permitting the torture of prisoners with a nod of his head, gambling at some dark underground gambling den with vulgar crude people, making the oath with her father, dancing with some random blond at the Renais Castle and stealing kisses when she was not looking…

_Because we will never be a true couple, never really become husband and wife…_

She sneered in his face. "You disgust me."

Twisting her wrist out of grasp, she opened the door and slammed it in his face, for the second time in two days.

* * *

Dinner was a solemn and awkward affair. Since they had arrived late, Queen Ismaire had already finished dining and two of them were left at the table alone, facing each other and surrounded by expressionless maidservants.

Joshua was unusually quiet, and slightly absent-minded. He accidentally spilled some wine of the tablecloths while he was drinking, a thing he had never done before.

Hesitantly, in the midst of cutting her steak, she sneaked a glance at his face. The paleness of his visage shocked her, and the downcast expression drove an arrow through her arrow. He looked haggard and depressed. She wondered if she had been too harsh with her words. _Did they hurt? How deep did they cut him? But it's the truth!_ She paused. _Is it?_

His eyes met hers. For a brief second, they looked at each other. She could detect the desperation, sorrow and pain etched in every line of his face, and his hollowed gaze seemed to pierce her heart, leaving it torn and bloody.

Quickly, she dropped her gaze, dropping her fork at the same time. She dived swiftly under the table in the hunt for her fork, groping in the dimness below the tablecloth. Her fingers came into contact into both the coldness of metal and the warmness of another hand.

Looking up, she stared at Joshua, whose hand also rested on the handle of the fork.

She did not move, neither did she remove her fingers from the fork or his hand. He opened his mouth, as though he wanted to say something, then stopped, closing his mouth tightly again. Her bottom lip trembled; she wanted to tell him that she was sorry, that she did not mean what she had said just now, that she was just upset with his callousness towards Stefan…but the words were stuck in her throat, refusing to come out.

She was proud, no doubt. Her mouth refused to open, her tongue refused to form the words, her brain refused to allow her to say the words.

Who would have known that saying an apology would be so hard? He had apologized to her for their argument yesterday, but she could not swallow her pride and humble herself by asking his forgiveness for wounding him thus deeply.

"Prince Joshua? Princess Marisa?" An authoritative voice queried.

Quickly, face blushing with embarrassment, she crawled back and emerged from beneath the tabletop before clambering into her seat with as much dignity she could muster. Opposite her, Joshua did the same, twin spots of pink on his cheeks.

Prime Minister Alexander, a large man with sleek curling green hair that trailed to his shoulders and green eyes that resembled a feline's, curled his lips at the sight. In all his years as minister, he had never seen a pair of royalty emerge from underneath a white tablecloth. Trying to keep a straight face, he bowed. "Your royal highnesses, I apologise for interrupting your dinner, but I am afraid I would require an audience with Princess Marisa."

"Now?" She frowned. _Me? He never spoke to me, always to Queen Ismaire or Joshua, but never me._ But just as well, she needed to speak to him about his mistreatment of prisoners.

Sir Alexander bowed, giving his affirmation. The attendants behind him held open the door. "In the Room of Compassion if you please."

_Aptly chosen. _"Sure," she shrugged, casting a last quick gaze at Joshua.

He was wearing the same desolate expression, the one stamped with misery and distress. His eyes followed her every move vacantly.

_Joshua…_She hesitated. It was so hard even if it was only in her mind. _I'm…sorry…_ With one last look, she swept out of the room.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**As darkblaziken would have suggested, this is rated cherry T. A little on the mildly sour side, but mostly sweet, nothing too explicit for virgin eyes and nothing too disturbing to ensure peace in our digestive systems. ^^ Cherries are good sources of anti-oxidants. I feel slightly reduced now. Sorry, chemistry joke. Pardon a lame joke once in a while.**

**This isn't really a cliffhanger, but things are starting to move along. After all, I would love to write each chapter into a cherry-flavoured short story but Joshua & Marisa'a relationship progress but decided that that would be the equivalent of nearly no plot, like a fluffy version of P?WP, so lolz but no thanks. The espionage and everything will start to heighten, and things will start to tense up. There will be a motive for everything, and there will be more characters introduced, like this Alexander, and hopefully later maybe I'll bring in the standard villains Valter and Caellach etc? Yup, so keep your eyes peeled and thanks for reading!**

**Cheerios~ snowylavendermist (Saturday, 9.50 pm, in a state of cherry-induced stupour produced by a JoshuaMarisa kissing scene I just penned and a Legault poster on my desktop XD)**


	12. Shackles of Regulations

**Shackles of Regulations**

_Rules and regulations have always been regular shackles, restricting one's freedom and ability to do what they wish. Whether right or wrong, with the intention of protection or destruction, regulations inevitably are still shackles, no matter how lovely the prospects they offer._

_Some regulations include protocol. It restricts the things one can do in a particular setting. Just because there is disagreement, one cannot simply solve it by tearing at each others' throats. Things are done over coffee and tea, over polite words with insinuating messages, with underlying currents. There are procedures to doing tasks, permission must be obtained, the people-in-charge informed, and the deed done._

_Other regulations have been instilled in us since young. Do not steal; do not murder; do not take advantage of others' misery. When one is married, be faithful to your spouse. When others' give you things, thank them. And no matter how liberal we are, how carefree we think we are, we are never free from these regulations, because eyes and ears are always wide open around us, listening, seeing, and judging._

The tea steamed in a ceramic cup before her, sitting quaintly on the coffee table imported from Carcino.

_She_ steamed as she stared coldly at the prime minister who was daintily examining his carefully manicured fingernails as he reported the information he had managed to force out of Stefan using his horsewhip.

"According to the prisoner," Sir Alexander said as he examined the texture of his hair. "He is a citizen of Carcino, who had wandering around exploring the world when he accidentally stumbled against your royal highnesses. He wishes to say that he had no intention whatsoever to harm your royal highness, and that he was acting out of self-defense. The throwing stars he carried were only for practical uses against bandits and wild animals, but he used them because he mistakenly judged himself to be in a dangerous predicament."

"So you're saying that I look like a common bandit or a wild animal," Marisa said coldly. That man was grating her nerves. First he examined his manicure, then he fondled his hair and now he proceeded to stroke his green stubbles! She turned away in disgust.

"Oh your majesty! Your royal highness!" He stopped indulging in self-stroking and prostrated himself before her. "I had no such intention. It was merely a statement of no harm, and in no way does your royal highness resemble a vile bandit or a wild beast. Your royal highness is the goddess of beauty herself reincarnated.

Fir the first time in her life, she fully learnt to appreciate the presence of a coffee table. It served as a barrier between her and the prostrate Sir Alexander; without it, Marisa was confident he would be crawling over to kiss her toenails to beg her forgiveness. Revolted by the idea, she turned away from Sir Alexander. The man was really something! Sheer flattery and adulation seemed to pour out of his every orifice, and his voice oozed a certain oiliness that made him appear glib.

She mentally questioned Queen Ismaire's choice of appointing him to the prominent role of prime minister.

Five minutes had passed, yet Sir Alexander was still sprawled on the ground, rambling on and on about the virtues of her beauty and how he was _deeply sorry and mollified by his own ridiculous and absurd words_ and how he wished to repay her kindness for not beheading him that instant by kissing her shoes (which she immediately hid under the long skirt of her robes).

"Sir Alexander?" she queried with as much politeness she could muster. Civility was wasted on this man, but no less, there was a need for it to be used in this case. "Please rise and take a seat."

The prime minister sprang to his feet instantly and propelled himself to the couch, launching into another flood of praise and thanks.

_This man is giving me a headache_. She grimaced.

"Sir Alexander," she interrupted him before she exceeded her threshold of patience. "As prime minister, brevity is no doubt a forte of yours. Would you like to…"

Sir Alexander was a born flatterer, but he was no idiot; the meaning of the words sank in instantly. "Ahh…" he said. The smile on his face became slightly forced. "As your highness desires." He clapped his hands twice, and from the adjacent room came a maid dressed in the standard black and white dress.

"This," he pointed to the maid, who looked slightly younger than she was. "This is Belle, your new personal maidservant. As a result of the recent encounters with spies and assassins, the house of ministers have decided to employ a special maidservant for your royal highness. Belle is skilled in martial arts and in insider information, and thus the house feels that it would be beneficial for you to have someone like this in case of another emergency."

"Does Joshua have a similar companion? Does Queen Ismaire have a similar guard stationed around her all the time?" she demanded. If they did not have a permanent maidservant hanging around them to ensure their safety, why should she be the one to get that special treatment?

"Well your highness…" Sir Alexander had the grace to appear flustered. "Since your highness has the tendency to run into difficulties…the house decided that it was …most cost-effective to safeguard your royal highness only amongst the members of the royal family."

"Does the house of ministers mean that I am incapable of taking care of my own safety?" She responded icily.

Sir Alexander pursed his lips and fell to his knees again. "Your royal highness, my lady!" He exclaimed in a fit of passion. "The house of ministers is not disparaging your esteemed highness adroit handling of a sword. It's just that…your highness has the unfortunate propensity to land yourself in a misfortunate skirmish with ruffians such as the Grado spies and Carcino explorers, and thus we, who _always_ place the interests of your highness in our hearts, decided to implement this new preventive measure, a sad policy that infringes on your highness' personal space and weighs heavily on our hearts." He finished his lengthy explanation with an exaggerated expression of remorseful sorrow and clasped hands above his chest.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. If _she_ ever became the queen (which was not likely in the first place since she had no intention of remaining as Joshua's consort once she found that darned oath paper), the first thing she would do would be to force this man's resignation.

Sir Alexander took her silence as submission, and waved the maidservant forward. She was a shy petite girl, perhaps a few years younger Marisa herself, with the rosy blush of a newly trained servant delighted to serve. Her red plaits bounced as she dropped a quick curtsey. There was a sparkle in her eye that suggested a certain degree of discerning sharpness and the capability of finding out things she wanted.

"Your highness," the girl, Belle, chortled. "I will be your new maidservant. Please, in the future, tell me about all your grieves and I would try my best to serve your royal highness to the best of my limited abilities."

_How modest_, she marveled. Humility was one of the qualities she lacked, and thus she admired it in the people around her. She had a feeling that the girl was going to play a crucial role in her upcoming life.

"Does your royal highness have any duties for me to fulfill?" Belle continued, eyes wide with excitement. "I would be very happy to assist your highness in any way." Her head bobbed up and down to reaffirm her joy at being useful.

"Well…" she hesitated. Being a member of the royal family was rather busy, but being the princess also meant a lot of duties were given to the prince instead of her, so she was pretty free most of the time. _The dusting was done this morning, the tables were cleared, and laundry had been hung to dry. What else could there be? _She racked her brains as she tried to think of an uncompleted task that she could put this eager girl in charge of. "Ah…" She finally thought of something. "The royal dressmaker said that the new dresses would be ready today. Could you find him and take the dresses and send them to Queen Ismaire's chambers please?"

Belle bowed and sped off to complete her task.

"I assure you, your highness," Sir Alexander bowed, smiling obnoxiously. "Belle may seem like a simple vulgar country maid, but her appearance belies her capabilities. She will not disappoint you."

"Sir Alexander," she turned to face him. "I was wondering if we could talk about something that has caught my attention recently."

"As your highness wishes," he bowed again.

She minced no words to get straight to her point. "I noticed that your treatment of our prisoner had been deplorable the last time I visited his cell," she said flatly. "Would you care to explain why the horsewhip was used out of the stables?"

Sir Alexander laughed lightly. "Your highness is certainly very humorous indeed," he said, a pale smile stretched over his features. "The prisoner is, naturally, subjected to torture to enable him to confess whatever that he knows. And based on prior experience, your highness, a horsewhip is a good torture instrument, not lethal enough to kill, but painful enough to make them spill, a little of blood and a little of knowledge. Why would your highness object to that?"

"It's unethical," she said simply.

"Unethical!" Sir Alexander laughed louder. "Your highness, was that man being ethical when he stabbed you in the shoulder? Why be ethical to someone who had harmed you before?"

"You do not return an eye for an eye," she said calmly. "Jehanna is a civilized country, and we will not resort to brutal _barbaric_ methods of outlawed torture in order to make someone speak!"

A vein throbbed visibly in Sir Alexander's temple, and his hands clenched into fists. His cheeks were stained with pink blotches. His voice came out, controlled and flat, but trembling with subdued rage and restrained fury. "The princess may find that she stands alone on this issue, for both the Prince and her royal highness the Queen herself has given the agreement for his torture."

"Is it?" she replied coolly. "Should we go and confirm with them right now, whether they have given you the nod to torture a prisoner until he was covered in dried blood and bruises?" She stood up and headed for the door. "Come, Sir Alexander! It's a matter of truth or false; it'll be verified in no time."

"I advise you not to, princess," the voice that stopped her was silky and smooth, but carried an undercurrent of danger and menace. "The guards have had some…very juicy information…that they would perhaps like to share with the others. If you are not careful, princess, you may find that one day…what transpired in that cell may just…leak out." He smiled cruelly. "I don't think the Prince would be very happy to know of your intimacy with a prisoner."

She opened her mouth to refute him, then shut it again before the words spilled out. He had the upper hand, and he had the capability to destroy her credibility and reputation with one swipe of his hand. The aces were in his hand, and there was no way she could win this round.

"Have it your way, Minister," she said stiffly. "Although it would be most kind of you to stop torturing poor innocent souls such as Carcino explorers, as you said."

He smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. "I am glad we have reached a mutual consensus, your highness." He reached for the door and swept her a bow. "It would be lovely if we could continue this agreement of non-intrusion and non-intervention. _I believe it would be the best for both of us._" With a last contemptuous smile, he left the room.

* * *

"From one hall to the next," she muttered under her breath. Seeing people and giving them whatever was expected of a princess was _not_ her cup of tea. _Got a problem? Fight it out. Lost your donkey? Go hire Gerik and find it for you! Need money? Go work, rob, steal, kill, whatever! Go solve your problems by yourself! What use is there of flocking to the princess to ask her to resolve a petty dispute over the ownership of a hen? Did she look like a poultry expert?_

She pushed open the door, and all her previous discontent and annoyance evaporated swiftly. "Saleh!" she exclaimed in delight, resisting the urge to fling herself into his embrace. After that traumatic and tiring experience with the scheming Sir Alexander, a visit from an old friend did seem appealing.

Saleh gave her a small shy smile. "It's good to see you again, Marisa," he said softly. "You look well."

She laughed. "Being a princess has its benefits," she admitted, examining his visage. "I'm beginning to put on weight here." She took a seat next to him. "Saleh, if only you look half as well as I do," she said wistfully. His eyes were sunken in and framed with dark circles from exhaustion. He looked pale and tired, almost like a person suffering from anemia. His lips were a faded pink. His curls were limp and dry, having none of the glossy texture it once possessed. She briefly wondered if his health had deteriorated because of her.

At her remark, he self-consciously touched his face. "Do I really look that awful?" he asked earnestly, a frown appearing on his face.

She longed to lie to him, but it was time that he was aware of his own deteriorating health. "Saleh, you are pale. And you look extremely tired," she nodded. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"I haven't slept well ever since you came here," he sighed heavily. His deep eyes looked at her with such longing and tenderness that she understood in a flash. Uncertain of how to respond, she sat looking at her lap, blushing.

"I always wonder if they treat you well in the palace," he continued. "I ponder over whether you have adjusted to your new life, whether they take care of you well, whether they accord you the respect you deserve. I cannot help myself but have an aversion towards that man-Prince Joshua. He has something he should treasure, but yet he is letting it slip between his fingers as though it was worthless like sand. Every night when I look at the ceiling, I see your face, giving me a beautiful smile, and I can't bear to sleep anymore, knowing that if I sleep, I won't see that lovely sight anymore." He rubbed his eyes. "I apologise Marisa, am I boring you?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Saleh…" She had wanted to tell him of the palace intrigues, about the assassination plots, but now she hesitated, fearing that it would only heighten his anxiety and add to his burden.

"Enough talk about me, Marisa," he gave her another smile. "I brought you something today, something that you would definitely like. I thought you might even miss it."

Her eyes widened in surprise as he took out a small basket, weaved from bamboo plates. She gave a gasp of delight as he uncovered the basket to reveal a basketful of ripe purplish cherries, with droplets of water sparkling on their surfaces.

"The old cherry tree did not fail our expectations," he said. "It yielded a lot of cherries this year again, but without you around, it was still loaded with fruit when I walked past yesterday. I thought you might like it, so I picked a basket of the best ones I could find for you. Do you like it?" His smile widened as she nodded her head in joy, savoring a cherry from the basket. "Since I can't be with you to pick cherries this year, consider this as a token of my apology, Marisa."

"Saleh…" She could see the nostalgia in his eyes. The fond memories that were kept tightly under lock and key sprung forth like a tide, assaulting her mind with the images of warm summers, cherry trees by the river, ripe round cherries without the slightest blemish, and of him, when his brown curls still had their luster and his complexion was still healthy and rosy.

_She was a little girl of five, a greedy little thing who crammed things into her mouth to feed her insatiable hunger and curiosity. _

_The cherry tree was tall (to a five year old, it was REALLY tall), but its branches were laden with fruits. She had waited and waited, but never once did the cherries drop down from the wind, and so she never had a taste of what the cherries tasted like. _

_She cast a longing look at the ripe sun-kissed fruits hanging enticingly before her eyes. It looked so near, yet so far!_

_No matter, today was the day she would have a taste of the cherries, for she would conquer the heights of the cherry tree and climb up the tree trunk onto the branches!_

_She may have been merely five, but her movements were agile and fast, and she was a nimble child, adroit at scaling walls and creeping up rough surfaces. The tree trunk was rough from the bark, and thus climbing the tree should prove itself as no difficult task._

_Rubbing her hands together in glee from the thoughts of her fruits of victory (no pun intended in her little child-like mind), she grabbed the tree and hoisted herself up _

_One step up, now two steps up. She was making progress inching up the tree. It definitely was harder than she thought, for some of the bark was loose and peeled off easily. Neither could her little hands find a grip on the large tree that she could use to support herself. Finding a little crevice as a handgrip on the trunk, she clambered up the trunk hurriedly, climbing onto a thick tree branch. _

_The cherries hung at the ends of the branches in thick clumps, nestled amongst the green leaves. She stretched her little arm as far as she could, straining for her prize, but her hands missed the cherries by just a little. Slowly, she inched herself nearer to the cherries, nearer…still nearer…nearly there…_

_With a loud crack, she felt herself falling through air. She flailed, getting ready for the pain and the heavy impact that would surely bring tears to her eyes and leave bruises on her arms and legs. _

"_Oof!" She had landed, not on the ground, but on someone. Her rescuer had cushioned her fall, but was now sprawled on the grass. A book lay on the grass a short distance away, fallen from her rescuer's hand._

"_Are you alright?" A warm gentle voice asked. She looked up to see the brightest pair of eyes she had ever seen on anyone. _

_She nodded vehemently. "Thank you," she said politely._

"_Were you climbing the cherry tree?" he laughed as she nodded her head again. "Wow, you are brave for your age. That tree is pretty tall." He brushed the grass from his clothes and undid his cape. "But just as well, your fall brought down a shower of cherries, so you can eat to your heart's content._

_She clapped, elated. She was finally going to savour those tempting fruits! But just as she was about to put one into her mouth, he plucked the cherry out of her fingers and shook his head. _

"_You have to wash them first, otherwise you might fall sick after eating," he chided, gathering up the cherries and placing them on his cape. _

_She watched mutely and tailed him as he carried the cherries to the river and washed them one by one. _

"_Wash your hands too," he reminded. _

_Obediently, she placed her grubby hands in the sparkling water and rubbed until the mud and sand came off._

"_Now you can eat," he gestured generously to the heap of washed cherries on his cape. _

_Eagerly, she took two handfuls and crammed five cherries into her mouth at once, nearly choking. They were so sweet and ripe! Delighted, she reached out for another handful even before she had finished the first._

_He laughed. "Greedy little piggy," he teased gently. "I'm Saleh, what about you?"_

"_Marisa." She managed to say in between mouthfuls of purple pulp._

"_Marisa…" Saleh marveled. "It means 'sea'. It's a beautiful name."_

_She gave him a wide smile. She already liked Saleh. He was such a nice person!_

Someone, somewhere, somehow…they had ended up together as part of Gerik's mercenary troop. She had joined to earn some money to repay her father's gambling debts; he had joined to (in his words) make sure that she came to no mischief_._

One thing they always did was pick cherries in summer, no matter how busy they were.

"_Open," she said, holding a cherry in her hand._

_Sitting at the base of the cherry tree, he looked up from where he had been reading about the latest developments in magical weapons (melee and magic combined) and opened his mouth wide._

_She took careful aim, then dropped the cherry into his mouth. After a free fall of nearly five metres, the cherry landed neatly on his outstretched tongue._

"_Hmm…" he smiled. "Tastes good."_

_She plucked a few more cherries and placed them in the nearly overflowing basket that Saleh had braided for her. With a perfect somersault, she landed softly on the grass a metre away from where Saleh sat. She glanced carelessly at the basket. Not a cherry had spilled, as usual._

"_I'll save these for dinner tonight," she said, placing the basket on the grass. "How's the book?"_

_He looked up amicably. "It's quite informative," he judged. "There's some vague portions, but most of it was explained quite well. They speak of imbibing magic into melee weapons, creating a hybrid weapon that would deal two different kinds of damage to opponents in one strike."_

"_Really?" she shrugged. She liked her shamshir and daggers the way they were now. Magic or no magic, they were fast enough, lethal enough and small enough. She did not really think it necessary to infuse magic into them to make them fly or something. Hocus pocus stuff was not really her sort of thing._

_Saleh laughed good-naturedly, not at all offended by her apparent lack of interest. "You never did like these stuff. But to answer your question, the book is good, and it is likely to be real. The writer claimed to have created an elfire-casting sword and a luna spear. He also mentioned a theory to combine the sacred twins of each country into one weapon that could potentially have greater power. His research stated that there was something to be unlocked, something that needed to be found-That's my lemonade!"_

_She grinned amusedly at his apparent concern for his lemonade and gulped down every last drop. "There wasn't a lot of it left," she placated._

"_Gerik wanted the last tenth of the jar," he explained._

_She glanced at the mercenary who was currently having a huge water fight with Tethys and Ewan and was currently losing quite badly. "I think that by the time they finish he would have drunk enough."_

_Saleh laughed. "True," he mused. _

_The rays of light from the setting sun lit up the smile on his face. Everything was peaceful, quiet, harmonious and lovely._

Now, everything was so hectic, so different and so confusing. She had been married after a whirlwind agreement signed by her father and Joshua, her husband turned out to be a womanizer and a gambler and her best friend from the past just pronounced his love for her much too late.

Where had everything gone? The peace, the quiet, the happiness…they had all flown beyond her grasp in a short period of three months. Now she was a princess, no longer a commoner on the streets. She had new duties, new responsibilities, a spouse, a mother-in-law.

"I…miss the past…" she confessed regrettably, staring at the basket of cherries. When would she ever have the chance again to pick cherries again with Saleh at the old cherry tree by the river?

"Do you?" A merry glint appeared in his eyes. "I was hoping you would. I do, in any case."

She stared awkwardly at the cherry in her hands. Her lower lip quivered. She wondered why things had turned out this way, why they hadn't even had a chance before they were separated by fate. Perhaps if Joshua didn't come in, perhaps if her father didn't gamble, perhaps if she spent more time with Saleh…things could have been re-written.

"You should go, Saleh," she said finally, breaking the awkward contemplative silence between them. What was done was done. Nothing could be done to rewind time and rewrite history all over again. "It's late."

"I…" he hesitated, but stood up from where he had been sitting on the couch. "Marisa, I hope to see you soon in that case. Take care of yourself. I'll be going then."

She stared resolutely at her cup of tea, determined not to look at him. His scorching gaze was lingering on her face. She swallowed. She wondered how long she could restrain herself.

"Bye." He whispered in a near inaudible voice as he swept out of the door, cape billowing in the wind. His words were tinged with so much sorrow and yearning that she struggled to blink back the tears that threatened to overflow onto her cheeks.

Self-consciously, she wiped her eyes with her sleeves. It was too late for even tears. There was no point in crying for what could have happened.

With a heavy heart, she rose to prepare to retire for the evening. Even though she may be unwilling, she would have to take another sleeping pill tonight if she wanted a decent night's sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This is a rather solemn picture that is more of plot than emotions. It tells of the Prime Minister, who is thankfully, fictional, and of Saleh, who is unfortunately fictional. I've always thought of Saleh as one who is devoted and dedicated, willing to follow the person he loves to the end of the world. Yet, also because of his personality traits, I feel that he is a silent lover, one that watches and waits at the side, never giving any indication or making any attempts to obtain the others' affection unless the other notices his attention. As such, Saleh's love is tragic, especially with Marisa, because both of them are fearful of love, and are wary of being in love for fear of hurting themselves in the process. I would have loved to create another character for Saleh, but then realised it would be deviating from the story too much. Maybe I should do an extension or something someday XD**

**Next chapter would be more light-hearted. I hope to post it tomorrow. But don't be lazy, review please! Thanks :D**

**Cheerios~ **

**snowylavendermist (cloudy, monday, 1.40 pm, cheery but hot due to extreme humidity of weather)**


	13. Shackles of InLaws

**Shackles of In-Laws**

**Warning: Chapter is rated concentrated cherry. (-Lemon)**

_How many times have you (if married) have ever wondered about how to escape the clutches of your in-laws, most of whom are patriaches of their families and steadfast believers of the age old human principles of procreation, marital harmony and no divorce. If you don't have such an in-law, good for you. You are the 0.000001% of priviledged people in our society. No offense to in-laws. It's called the generation gap. _

_As such, even for someone who is unmarried, we can feel the pressure of the stereotypes we will have from the in-laws. They have certain expectations of us, and they will demand us to fulfill these expectations, sometimes even plan the pathway for fulfilling these lofty ambitions of theirs._

_Thus, being married would mean to recognise the in-laws as family, and therefore also means the acceptance of full responsibility to the demands of the in-laws_

_This is not a bachelor/bachelorette advertisement._

* * *

Struggling to keep her eyes open, she stabbed at the sausage rolling around in her plate. Her eyelids felt as though they were made of lead, and her neck seemed to weigh a thousand tons. It took her much effort and strength just to make sure that she did not fall asleep, face buried in her plate of yellow scrambled eggs.

_I must have taken one pill too many last night_, she pondered mentally. Finding great trouble in falling asleep, she had taken one pill every five minutes till she drifted off. Considering she had spent approximately half an hour trying to induce sleep, she had popped roughly six sleeping pills last night alone? _Gosh…why am I still alive…_she groaned mentally. She had heard stories of people ending their lives by ingesting five sleeping pills at one go. Why was she still walking on the surface of the earth?

"Good morning mother." Joshua yawned as he walked into the dining room. "Good morning Marisa."

"Good morning Joshua," Queen Ismaire said cheerily. "Yawn with your mouth closed dear."

"Sorry Mother," he stifled another yawn.

"You forgot to kiss Marisa," the Queen continued disapprovingly.

She saw him looking across the table at her. It was merely yesterday when, under this very table, they had spent that awkward moment picking up the fork. She kept her eyes averted, looking everywhere, anywhere, except at him.

She heard his chair being pulled back, making a muffled scraping noise on the carpeted floor. She felt the table shake as he got up, arm accidentally banging onto the table. She listened to the sound of his footsteps as he made his way across the carpet, around the Queen's chair, until he stood next to her.

She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Faster and faster her heart raced as he leant forward, closing the distance between them. They were in such close proximity that a few strands of his hair brushed her forehead. Her mind was flooded by his musky scent, a smell that she had grown fond of. Gently, she closed her eyes for what was to come…

His lips brushed her foreword briefly, and that was all. She opened her eyes and saw him making his way back to his seat. It was almost a non-existent kiss, like a light brush of a butterfly's wing. _Is he still angry with me? _She wondered in disappointment. She had hoped for the lingering kiss he gave her customarily every morning, the one that left a tingling sensation on her forehead that filled her with warmth.

"Now," Queen Ismaire said, patting her lips delicately with a silk napkin. "I was just thinking. The two of you have been married for a little more than three months right?"

"Yes mother," Joshua affirmed as he lifted the wine glass to his lips.

She nodded in corroboration as she chewed on the mouthful of scrambled eggs. _Hmm…too much pepper today…_

"Exactly!" Queen Ismaire clasped her hands excitedly. "I was wondering, my dear, when the two of you would give me a grandson?"

The effect of her words was instantaneous. Joshua spit out the entire mouthful of red wine onto the tablecloth, resulting in a red-stained scrambled egg and a lovely splatter design across the formerly pristine white tablecloth.

She did not fare any better, having nearly swallowed her fork in shock.

"Joshua!" Queen Ismaire chided. "That's extremely vulgar!" She shook her head at the mess created on the table and looked disapprovingly at her son. "Besides, you should have given some thought to producing an heir for Jehanna. You are the future king to the throne, and it would be lovely if I can have a few grandchildren running around."

She paled as she clutched the fork. _A few?_

"But mother!" Joshua protested. "Are we not too young? I'm merely 22 this year and Marisa barely turned 20."

_Exactly_, she thought.

"Nonsense, Joshua," Queen Ismaire dismissed his argument easily. "I was pregnant with you when I was 18 years of age, and look at you! You turned out to be a fine young man without problems."

_Really? _She mentally questioned the Queen's definition of 'without problems'.

"But Mother!" Joshua tried again, but the Queen silenced him with an admonishing look.

"Now Joshua," Queen Ismaire said severely. "Surely you can fulfill your mother's little wish in this area? The two of you are married, and I see no problem in two married people raising a kid together."

_Of course! She doesn't know the reason why Joshua married me! _Marisa frowned. Things were getting a little out of hand, and it was his fault. If he had married his beloved _Natasha_ at the start it would have saved him and her, as well as the entire royal family and court of ministers, a lot of unnecessary trouble.

She glared at him across the table, as though to say 'I told you something bad would happen out of this'.

He caught the murderous glare, and sighed. "Okay Mother, what do you want us to do then," he asked resignedly.

"Make babies!" Queen Ismaire said it as though it was the easiest thing in the world. "The more the merrier. I checked with the maids, and apparently our castle can hold up to 50 children with plenty of room for more!"

_Fifty? _She nearly fainted in horror. _She wants us to have fifty children? Does she want me to be pregnant until I am ninety-nine?_

"Of course you need not have so many," Queen Ismaire reassured. Joshua's colouring returned a little. "But I expect at least one heir to the Jehannan throne. Are you two sharing a room?"

"No Mother," Joshua replied tensely.

"Very well," Queen Ismaire clapped her hands. "From today onwards, the two of you would live together as a proper married couple and have a single room. I have arranged for the west wing to be cleaned out for the two of you. You will have a sitting room for your leisure, a study and your bedroom, enough and well-furnished enough for two people." She sighed dreamily. "When I was young, your father and I used to stay there two, and we would sit, hand in hand, watching the sunset together at the window…"

_Is there a way out of this arrangement? _She thought frantically. The idea of sharing a room with Joshua was…bizarre. She did not particularly want to think about all the potential conflicts that would happen. They currently stayed in two rooms and they have had tons of conflicts, big and small, in the common room. If they stayed together…hopefully the west wing would still be standing in one week's time.

"And don't think of worming out of this arrangement, Joshua," Queen Ismaire warned. "If I hear anything of either one of you sneaking away from living together I shall not hesitate to give the offender a good lecture and no dinner for the next five weeks. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Mother," Joshua said.

"Yes, Queen Mother," she parroted. What else could she do? Cry? Throw a tantrum? _Gosh_, she moaned in despair._ Life is so unfair. Why didn't I take a pill or two more last night? It would have put me out of this misery for good…_

"Well then, good!" Queen Ismaire said in delight. "I expect to see the results of my hard work and planning in a few months' time. If there is good news, Marisa, do tell me as quick as you can. The continuation of the royal heirs of Jehanna rests on your shoulders, my dear."

_Oh great…_she refrained from voluntarily banging her head into the scrambled eggs. _Just great._

* * *

She was in the cherry tree again, out of sheer desperation. From her position on the tree, she could see the maids and servants busily transporting all her belongings and her entire wardrobe over to the west wing.

Belle stood in the middle of the line of people. "Yes!" She bellowed. "That thing goes into the new wardrobe. No, don't bring _that_ along, the other one on the left. Yes! Thank you so much!"

She smiled. Belle was such an enthusiastic and dependent maidservant. A little noisy at times (especially about palace gossip), she was nonetheless very sharp, discerning and clever. While other maids had to be instructed once or twice to ensure no miscommunication, Belle got things done after the first time. She was efficient, and Marisa approved of it.

She had just finished a sparring session with Joshua, which had ended in a tie again, the two of them both pitching their swords at each other's throats. They had fought for 3 times this week and it was their third tie. Was there never going to be a winner at this rate?

Immediately after the sparring match, Joshua had rushed off to attend a meeting of the House of Ministers, apparently to discuss sensitive war issues, thus leaving her alone in the garden with little to do but watch the servants scurry around like busy little ants.

The leaves rustled, signaling an intruder. Soft footsteps crept up behind her. She didn't even need to turn back to look to know who that was. The sounds his feet made were deeply entrenched in her mind ever since the day she had fell victim to his sudden assault.

"Hey, Rennac," she greeted. "I know you're behind."

The soft footsteps stopped and were replaced by enormously loud creaks and cracking that sounded as though an elephant was stomping through the tree.

"Damn!" He plopped down beside her on the branch. "I was hoping to scare you a little and steal that little necklace of yours for a nice tidy sum."

She unclasped the necklace and threw it to him. "If you like it, take it," she shrugged.

His eyes widened to the size of saucers as he stared at the necklace, at her, and back at the necklace. "Are you kidding?" he exclaimed, fingering the jewels on the necklace. "This thing's probably worth more money than what I've ever had in my whole life. Gosh, you're my saint, princess! Why didn't you appear sooner in my life? Then I would have been able to enjoy life by living on your hand-outs."

She rolled her eyes at his eloquence. "Couldn't you just say thanks instead of a speech?"

"I'm offended princess," he said in mock grumpiness, folding his arms together and wearing an exaggerated frown. "You don't know how to appreciate the beauty of my speech."

She could not help herself but laugh at the ridiculous expression on his face. Satisfied that he had made her laugh, Rennac turned his attention to the surroundings. "Hmm…what are those people doing, moving furniture around?"

"Queen Ismaire wants Joshua and I to have a baby so she can be a grandmother, so she is making us share a room and a bed in the hopes that Jehanna can get an heir," she groaned. She did not need reminding of her horrific life. "Don't laugh."

"Really?" Rennac could barely contain the smirk on his face. Every line on his face screamed 'I'm going to burst into uncontrollable laughter'

She gave him her signature glare that promised a slow painful death if he dared to let a guffaw escape his lips.

"That-ahem-is certainly an-ahem-extraordinary circumstance-ahem ahem" Rennac said, coughing into his hand incessantly, most likely in a bid to hide his laughter.

She narrowed her eyes dangerously.

""Well-ahem-you mean the two of you haven't done _anything_ at all ever since you were married?" Rennac asked in disbelief. He was trying really hard to conceal the snigger on his face.

"We kissed, twice," she confessed.

"Kissed? Twice?" Rennac exploded into laughter, finally, after restraining himself for the past five minutes. "Oh lords! Prince Joshua does have some _uber-good_ self-control. Either that or he's gay!" He burst out into further raucous laughter, holding the thick branch for support as his body jerked with every laugh.

She raised her foot and gave him a sound kick in the shin. "Shut up, damn you," she swore. "Someone will hear you."

He did not even seem to have felt the kick. Hiccupping from his recent bout of uncontrollable laughter, he dried the tears that had formed in his eyes. "Oh lords, this is the darn funniest joke I've heard in my life-oh second funniest!"

"What's the funniest?" she asked curiously.

"That L'Arachel is quiet," he snickered.

_Okay, that is pretty funny._ She laughed in spite of herself as she pictured the princess of Rausten shutting up for even half a second. "Who said that?"

"L'Arachel herself," he grinned.

She burst out into laughter, just as he had a minute ago. L'Arachel and quiet were antonyms in a dictionary, complete antithesis of each other. _No way_ could L'Arachel think that she was quiet. If _that_ was quiet, what would noisy refer to?

"Oh, the last time I checked, Princess _Quiet_ is going to visit you sometime soon," he said casually. "She said that she wanted to check up on you and talk to you. She claimed that you made an attentive listener."

"Anyone can be an attentive listener beside her," she replied. "She forces them to listen with her voice. It drowns out everything else."

Rennac snickered in response. "Oh yeah. I wanted to ask you," he said, leaning in closer to her, eyebrows moving suggestively. "What are you going to wear tonight huh?"

"Wear?" She frowned. "The usual I guess, one of these robe things." She gestured to her robe. What else could she wear? She always wore these to sleep. Even though she still preferred her convenient shirt and skirt, the robes were definitely more comfortable, and less warm.

Rennac raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to…you know…explore the boundaries of married life a bit?"

"What?" She answered, flustered.

"Are you pretending to be dumb, or are you dumb?" Rennac muttered. "You know, to get a kid, the two of you must…you know…do something…natural procreation…reproduction in humans and mammals…the bees, birds, flowers and whatever the hell there is in the plant kingdom?"

"Bees and birds aren't plants," she pointed out.

He waved her remark aside. "Listen to grandpapa Rennac," he suggested. "Wear something nice and lacy, hopefully a little on the transparent side."

"What!" she exclaimed in outrage. That was completely uncalled for. Who was _he_ to tell her what to wear to bed with Joshua?

"Shush Princess, not done yet." He hushed her irritably. "You should try and find something red or black too. He'll definitely like it. Oh, and satin works well, or other kinds of silk. And make sure the robe has a sleek cutting with a low neckline, a clinched waist and slightly flayed at the skirt. The bottom of the robe must be at least two inches above the middle of your thiggggaahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Picking himself up in a hurry, he raced off the cherry tree and clambered onto the wall just as she unsheathed her shamshir. Standing cockily on the wall, he yelled. "Hey princess! Remember what I taught you! You must do it tonight okay? And tell me Prince Joshua's reaction after that! Thanks for the necklace. BYEEEEEEEEE!" He leapt off the wall in a hurry.

Wise move.

Had he been standing there for a second longer, two daggers would have sliced his face into ribbons.

Sheathing her shamshir again, Marisa let out a disgruntled sigh.

That man was _hopeless, _truly _hopeless._

* * *

Queen Ismaire bestowed upon them a benign parental smile as she gestured to the dessert. "I personally ordered the cooks to prepare these for you instead of the usual sugary pastries. They're very nutritious and drinking it will give you a lot of health benefits."

After a heavy dinner consisting of a starter of fruit salad (strawberries, raspberries and bananas mixed with dark chocolate sauce), a main course of oysters (raw and opened fresh by the attendants and served with thick ginger paste) and a few glasses of wine, Marisa certainly felt extremely full and was disinclined to drink the dubious-looking dessert.

It was plain brown in colour, and there were strange looking herbs floating in the soup. Queen Ismaire had called it a sweet soup, but from experience (and the pungent herbal smell that flooded her olfactory senses), it was likely so bitter that she would cry while drinking it.

"Why are you not drinking this, Mother?" Joshua voiced his doubts as well. He eyed the soup with vague caution. "If it is so good for the health everyone should partake in it, especially you, Mother."

"Oh no, dear," Queen Ismaire replied. "As you can see, my mild indigestion is creating havoc for my…ah…abdomen again, and I partook in only porridge for dinner. Drinking herbal soup would most certainly cause a further disturbance in my already discordant stomach. I'll drink it some other time."

Satisfied with his mother's response, Joshua lifted the bowl and drank the soup in one gulp, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Yucks," he pulled a face. "Tastes disgusting."

"Joshua, napkins are on the table, not on your arm," Queen Ismaire said severely. "And things that taste disgusting are sometimes good for your health." Turning around, she faced Marisa and waited expectantly.

Seeing as even the Queen was waiting for her, Marisa dismissed the crazy notion that the soup might be poisoned and gulped it down as well. She wiped her mouth on the napkin provided on the table.

"It tastes…decent…" She was lying through her teeth. It tasted just like traditional medicine. Bitter and disgusting. Wasn't all those herbal stuff thrown away when staves came into the picture?

"Good," Queen Ismaire beamed at her. "Now my dear, go retire for the night. You must be tired from a day's work."

* * *

Letting out a sigh of contentment, she lounged in the warm water. Although she did not especially like the new developments with regards to her lodging, the large and comfortable bathroom was one of the additions for which she had no complaints.

It was large and spacious, with a miniature pool for a bathtub. When filled with warm water, it was extremely relaxing to soak in the marble tub and sleep the hours away. Or if she was extremely bored, she could count the number of crystals on the chandelier that hung above the tub.

She had been bathing for the past two hours, and her skin was getting wrinkly, something which she detested. It took away the acute sense of touch from her fingertips, and it was extremely unnerving to her to touch something and not feel the precise fibres, singular threads and individual grains.

Stepping out of the bathtub, she grabbed the white fleecy towel and dried herself and her hair. Satisfied that she was no longer damp and dripping, she looked around for her clothes, which Belle should have laid out on the silver rack by the towels.

To her utmost horror (and shock of course), she did not find her usual robes. In its place was a piece of red lacy silk _thing_ that she could hardly identify as hers. She would _never_ wear those kinds of clothes. Warily, she held it up, only to discover that not only was it literally transparent, it had an impossibly low neckline and a lacy hemline that stopped two inches above middle of the length of her thigh.

It sounded exactly like what Rennac had described to her this very afternoon, and the uncanny resemblance was shocking enough to start a series of crazy hypothesizing in her head, some of which included that Rennac had somehow managed to sneak in and exchange her clothes as a kind of a joke.

She cleared her head. No, that was impossible. That hopeless fellow was probably still haggling over the price of her necklace with some unfortunate broker somewhere in the middle of Rausten probably.

There was no other alternative but to wear that piece of _thing_ that some damned genius classified as clothing, or walk out naked. The second option was even more unappealing than the first. Or there were still the towels…

She grabbed the towel, and sighed. Since when did they provide only _one _towel, and since when did they provide towels long enough to only cover half of an average human's body?

Okay, so she was left with no alternative.

Hesitantly, she slipped on the piece of satin and lace and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her brain nearly blacked out.

The robe was purely a joke. It was probably created by someone who lived in an oven, who needed as little clothes as possible to withstand the heat.

She took a few deep breaths. She was going to need as much courage she could muster, and a little more courage from the surroundings. Maybe she could grab some from the air or something.

Things didn't bode well…

Taking one last deep breath, she closed her eyes and opened the door.

"Ah! Marisa! You're finally done," Joshua said, still reading the parchments that detailed the outline of the next meeting of ministers. "I was wondering when-oh…"

Her face almost burst into flames as he scrutinized her closely, not blinking even once. His eyes made a downward trip, then did a turn and continued upwards, followed by another downward journey.

She desperately needed to dive into the blankets.

She did exactly as her brain told her to do. Taking a few large steps, she pounced on the bed as far away from Joshua as possible. Tugging all the blankets to her side in a few handfuls, she covered every inch of herself from the neck down.

_Oops._

She realized too late that she now shared a blanket with Joshua, and by wrapping herself tightly with the blanket he was uncovered.

Although she did attempt to resist, she still succumbed to the temptation of looking at him. Her eyes traveled down his fringe falling messily over his forehead to the fine line of his square determined jaw. Her gaze went lower and traced expense of his wide shoulders and lingered on his toned chest. Looking lower still, she marveled with open admiration the firm muscles on his abdomen. She longed to stretch and run her fingers over his bronze tanned skin, over his lean muscles.

She swallowed.

_Were they are firm as they look?_

"Ahem," Joshua coughed embarrassedly. "Sorry, I don't wear much to sleep, just a pair of boxer shorts. Jehanna is a bit on the warm side."

Flushing to the roots of her hair, she turned away and threw him half of the blankets, before flinging herself onto the bed and wrapping herself up tightly.

A single candle burnt slowly in one corner of the room, releasing a musky rose scent that seemed to messing with her mind.

_Come on Marisa, sleep normally_, she urged herself mentally, closing her eyes tightly. _Don't let yourself be influenced by Joshua's presence. Pretend no one's there in the bed with yourself._ It was a bit hard to ignore the musky scent that was currently enveloping her. It was also a little difficult to pretend that nothing was there on the other side of the bed when there was obviously a warm pressing heat radiating from his body.

"Marisa?" Joshua asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

She turned around. "What?"

"Don't you feel that it's getting…a bit…cold?" he asked, holding up his arm. There were goose-bumps lining his skin.

She shook her head, despite the fact that her teeth were chattering and she was shivering uncontrollably all over.

"Liar," he teased affectionately. "Come here." Without waiting for her response he placed one arm on her waist and shifted her closer to him, till they were snuggled against each other. "We can't have you catch a cold, can we?"

She lay tensely in his embrace, like a rabbit in a fox's paws. _What did he want? This is such a dangerous position to be in._

"Those people," he mumbled. "Turning off the heat just to make us sleep huddled together. Are you still cold now?"

She shook her head, the back of her head against his chest. Her back was tightly pressed against his torso. His arms clasped firmly around her waist. She was thankful for the relative darkness, otherwise he could see her face turning the colour of an apple.

She shifted slightly to make herself more comfortable, but accidentally brushed against him. She could hear his sharp intake of breath.

_Damn…I just encouraged him…oh no…now what…will I survive…why didn't I take one more sleeping pill last night…if he touches me anymore I shall scream…no I shall leap up and mash him into pulp…wait where's my shamshir…oh no I don't have my shamshir with me right now…shall I go get it…no wait but this position is comfortable…I can feel his heartbeat and every line of the muscles on his torso…he's so well-built…wait why I am thinking about this…no you shall not think about his gorgeous muscles…did I just say that…oh no I'm incorrigible…I think I'm poisoned…the soup must have been laced with some poison to make me irrational…but just as well it allows me to fantasise about him…NO YOU SHALL NOT FANTASISE ABOUT HIM…okay so no fantasizing but is imagining allowed…NO NONE OF THAT SORT STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM…right like I am not trying…TRY HARDER…he's too gorgeous and well-built and muscular…DON'T SAY THAT…I'm think I'm a little bit horny today…YES YOU ARE YOU JUST REALISED…hmmm I wonder why that is so…QUEEN ISMAIRE DRUGGED THE SOUP…oh of course the soup of all evils…YESSS…but he drank it too…WHAT OH WHAT OH NOOOOO…may I survive tonight… _

When the candle finally burnt out (and her conversation in her mind finally ended), they lay in that position, neither moving, neither sleeping. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the warmth that enveloped her body. She knew that he was awake too, judging from his heavy breathing and the strong beating of his heart.

"Marisa?" he whispered.

She kept silent and lay still, feigning sleep. As he leant forward towards her, she closed her eyes tightly.

His hand lightly brushed her cheeks. Gently, he tucked a few flyaway hairs back behind her ear. "You're beautiful when you sleep, Marisa," he whispered tenderly.

She strained to prevent herself from flinching at his touch. It wasn't unpleasant, merely that she was not used to such intimate gestures.

"I know you won't want a child; our marriage was a farce after all," he sighed. "I won't force you." Silence. "But…sometimes I feel as though we really are a married couple. Don't you?" He sighed again. "I may not be able to control myself around you anymore…my self-control is not all that fantastic."

A pair of lips brushed against her forehead affectionately, lingering briefly. "So if that time ever comes, forgive me, love."

She felt him lie back down on the bed and circled his arms around her once more. Slowly, his breathing slowed down and became shallow.

His words still fresh in her mind, she drifted into the sea of dreams.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Teehee! This is a chapter for fangirlism XDDDDD ALL HAIL JOSHUAMARISA! *bows down***

**I warned yeh it was cherry concentrated *wink wink* Haha, but nothing explicit, right? You could hardly count physical descriptions like honeyed thighs and chocolate abs as lemon right? *nudge nudge nudge* Guess who has them XDDD**

**Sorry, a little on the irrational side. I think writing about the drugged soup poisoned me too.**

**BTW, I shall assume that everyone knows about the aprodisiacs? I spent such a LONG time finding suitable ones. Can you imagine? Avocado is an aphrodisiac, apparently. o.0 I find nothing vaguely romantic about pulpy pale green flesh that looks like face masks. o.0 Sorry avocados, no love between you and I.**

**Love luv luv ~ snowylavendermist (starry night, 9.20 pm, in an irrational mode, turning into an irrational fraction of her true self *haha*)**


	14. Shackles of Kinship

**Shackles of Kinship**

_We can choose our friends; we can make friends; we can break friendships. But family is different. We are born with the kinship. We can't choose the family we are born into, we can't choose what kind of siblings we have; we can definitely not choose our parents._

_But we can choose how we treat them. No matter how deeply they have wounded us, most still choose to forgive our kin even if they had wronged us. Because blood calls to blood._

_It is neve too late to repent and salvage the love between family members. _

_Never too late._

* * *

She awoke the next morning feeling a little woozy. The sunlight was already streaming into the room through the window, and the early birds twittered cheerfully on the branch of the oak tree outside.

She freed herself from Joshua's embrace by lightly shifting his arms away from where they had spent the night around her waist.

He looked endearing when he slept, especially with the golden sunlight illuminated his face, giving him an appearance similar to that of Adonis. His long hair fanned out on the pillow, a cascade of crimson. His lips were slightly parted, and he wore a serene expression.

Careful not to wake him, she brushed back a stray lock of hair from his face, as he had done for her last night. With her fingertips, she lightly traced the contours of his face down to his jaw line.

It was times like this she loved the most, a calm quiet moment snatched from the midst of their chaotic and hectic lives filled with plots and treachery. If only she could wake up like this beside him everyday, there would be nothing else she would wish for in her remaining days as his wife.

_How long do I have left with this man? _She wondered. Queen Ismaire was already beginning to pass the important duties of governing the country to him, and he had already taken over as the head of the house of ministers, presiding over important meetings of national issues. In no time, he would ascend the throne, and she would revert back to being a plain girl on the streets, living with her gambling father in an empty dusty mansion. She grimaced at the prospects.

"You're stroking my face and frowning. I hope it's not because you disapprove of my appearance?"

She startled, withdrawing her hand instantly.

Joshua's eyes were wide open, and he was staring at her with vague amusement. "Good morning Marisa," he yawned. "It's nice to wake up in the morning to see my wife fondling me. If you're not done yet, I can always go back to sleep so that you can finish pawing my face." He turned and snuggled back under the blankets. "Come on, I'm waiting."

Laughing at his ridiculous statement, she smacked him on the head soundly with the pillow, causing a shower of white down.

"Hey!" Joshua bolted up, seizing his own pillow. "You asked for it!" He brought down he pillow against her head.

Giggling, she grabbed another pillow and smacked him on the head and on the chest at the same time.

"Hey! No fair!" He armed himself with two pillows as well and assaulted her. "Three points for the head. Two points for the torso. No points if you miss." He dodged a hit from her pillow. "Haha, loser!"

Pouting, she swung her pillow and aimed for his head. Feathers flew all over the room as they dodged and aimed, smacking each other with their pillows. She shrieked as he threw down both his pillows and grabbed her around the waist.

"I always find this more effective," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Tickle attack!" Taking a feather that was lodged in his hair, he held her feet firmly and proceeded to tickle her soles with the feather.

If there was one thing that Marisa was truly scared of, it was tickling. She was absolutely fearful of people tickling her, which always rendered her incapable of doing anything except lie down and laugh.

She burst into a fit of giggles as the feather brushed her soles lightly. "Joshua! Stop! Stop!" She gasped in between bouts of laughter. "No! Ah!"

"That'll teach you to smack me with a pillow," he grinned, poking the feather at her toes.

She rolled on the bed, helpless with laughter. Clutching her sides, which felt as though they were going to split from laughing so much, she begged him for mercy. "Joshua, please…" she giggled. "Oh! Stop stop!"

"Will you ever smack me with a pillow again?" he asked.

"Never!" she exclaimed, gasping for breath as he continued his ministrations.

"Promise?" he questioned.

"Anything!"

The tickling stopped. She lay on the bed, surrounded by white downy feathers, panting hard. He fell back onto the bed beside her.

She stared at the ceiling, inhaling his musky scent, listening to his breathing. _That was…fun…_she mused. It had been a long time since she had laughed so much. _Okay, fun's over. Time to be a princess again and return to mundane normal life._

She got up and walked over to her wardrobe. Choosing a cream robe with black patterns, she walked over to the bathroom. She meant to tell him to hurry up and change before they were late for breakfast, but all that came out was "Could we have a pillow fight again?"

He looked taken aback by her request. Even she was momentarily shocked at her own words. Fortunately, after he recovered, he shrugged, smiled and nodded casually.

Smiling, she closed the bathroom door. She was secretly glad she had asked that and she was happy that he had agreed.

* * *

"And so we can conclude, from the various points above, that Grado has full inclination to invade Jehanna's borders anytime," concluded Carlyle, the minister of warfare and defense. "As a result, I have full reason to believe that Jehanna is in danger of a full-scale invasion from Grado along the Western shared border."

"What are our defenses there?" Joshua frowned.

"We have thirty thousand foot soldiers stationed along the border, as well as a total of three thousand snipers. However, it is reported that Grado's army is five times our amount, and their main forces are wyvern lords and dark druids," Carlyle replied.

With quick computation, it was evident that defense would be very difficult, and retaliation would even harder. Grado was well-known for their wyvern lords, whose huge beasts served both as a mount and a deadly weapon to their riders. Their dark druids were rumoured to be so accurate that they could kill a moving target from a mile away. Given that Jehanna's army was mainly made up of swordmasters and sages, it was highly unlikely for Jehanna to be able to attain a victory in direct battle with Grado.

All the ministers lapsed into a melancholy silence, no doubt each and every one of them fearing for their lives should the worst occur.

"What strategy do you suggest Carlyle?" Queen Ismaire asked softly.

"We could attempt to ask for reinforcements from the other countries. Frelia's snipers and falconknights would prove to be assets in battle with Grado's wyvern lords, while Rausten has plenty of bishops who could assist our cause by destroying Grado's army of druids," Carlyle suggested.

"Not practical," Joshua rejected the idea. "King Innes shows little intention of going to war, and if the need truly arises they would rush to Renais' aid first. Rausten is unlikely to offer us aid, considering that they have only a small army who would be needed to defend their own interests first."

"The second solution I have here, is to break the seals and retrieve the Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stone," Carlyle proposed.

Collective gasps were heard around the room at the mention of the Sacred objects.

"Preposterous!" One minister shouted. "The Sacred Twins are never withdrawn except during dire emergencies or during coronations."

"And you do not think this is a dire situation?" Alexander thundered, silencing everyone. "Do we need to see our people dying like flies before we decided to withdraw the Sacred Twins?"

"As I was saying," Carlyle continued. "The Sacred Twins could be retrieved and their magic utilized on the battlefield to give Jehanna an edge. Since Grado would be fighting two fronts it would be likely that they would utilize one Sacred Twin on each front, giving us a numerical advantage."

Many of the ministers began nodding in agreement. The idea seemed good, since it did seem as though it gave Jehanna an edge.

"No," Queen Ismaire shook her head. "We cannot expose the Sacred Twins to such danger. If they are seized by the Grado troops Jehanna will fall within less than a day."

"We can protect them! Station troops around the Sacred Twins to make sure no one can steal them or rob them from our clutches!" Alexander said passionately. "We will assign the most patriotic soldiers to guard our national treasures!"

Queen Ismaire continued to shake her head. "The Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stone are proof of the legitimacy to rule. The Sacred Twins are deeply entwined with Jehannan history, and with the ascension of every ruler the Sacred Twins are passed on to the ruler. If they fall into the hands of Grado, the legitimacy to rule Jehanna has passed in power to Grado. It would be an unconditional surrender in itself."

"But my queen!" Alexander protested. "Do you not see that it is a dire situation, one that cannot afford us to take any chances?"

"I understand the urgency of the matter, Prime Minister," Queen Ismaire explained. "But I cannot permit the breaking of the seal. In addition, it is useless. Grado will send Gleipnir, their Sacred Twin over here, and it would best our Excalibur."

"There's always the chance that they would send…" Carlyle ventured.

"They will definitely send Garm to Renais," Queen Ismaire rebutted. "Prince Ephraim currently wields a powerful lance, and he is their most powerful fighter. It is almost certain that they will attempt to take him down to destroy army morale." She sighed as she rubbed her temple. "The Grado generals are, sadly, not fools."

"My Queen, are you very sure of not employing the power of the Sacred Twins?" Alexander persisted. "It would be best for the country…"

"Yes, I am very sure my answer is no," Queen Ismaire reaffirmed. "And my answer is final." She waved her hand. "Dismissed."

As the ministers filed out one by one, Marisa got up and prepared to leave as well. Meetings usually bored her with their technicality and lack of decisive action, but this one was on a pressing issue, and the issue was about warfare, something that she had interest in.

"Marisa, would you like to stay behind awhile?"

She turned around to see Queen Ismaire waving her hand and patting the seat next to her. Obediently, she sat on the indicated chair.

When the last servant had filed out and the door was firmly closed, leaving only the two of them in the room, Queen Ismaire turned to her. "A cup of tea for you?" The Queen indicated to the teapot on the table. Seeing that Marisa nodded, she poured two cups of tea.

"Now Marisa, you must be wondering why I am asking to speak to you," Queen Ismaire began, placing the steaming cup of tea before her. "I wanted to talk to you about your marriage with Joshua."

_Uh-oh._

"I may be old, Marisa, but I am not a fool," Queen Ismaire smiled gently, adding a sugar cube into her tea. "From the first day you stepped into the palace as Joshua's wife, I could tell that you did not wholeheartedly agree to marry my son. Why else would you remain so cool and distant from him, if you married him for love?"

Marisa clenched and unclenched her fists underneath the table. _Things don't seem to be turning out very well…_

"I did my digging; I went to investigate, and I know about the oathpaper and the gamble," Queen Ismaire continued. "I obviously was not very pleased with Joshua when I knew the truth, but what is done has been done. I cannot order the two of you to separate without causing a scandal, but neither can I sit and not do anything."

Marisa nodded. _Okay, I understand so far. She's still treading around the issue…what is it she wants to say?_

"I know my son has many faults. Gambling is one of them; womanising is another one. I'm sure you noticed them too," Queen Ismaire paused. "Do you know why I made the two of you room together?"

Marisa shook her head.

Queen Ismaire sighed. "War is imminent, Marisa, everyone know that. If the time comes when Grado invades Jehanna, Joshua, as the prince of the country, will have to lead Jehanna into battle, Marisa. As a mother I fear for his safety; I feel like he's walking right into a tiger's den, waiting to be cut down. As a queen, I fear for the throne. If anything should happen to him, the Jehannan throne will be left without an heir, and that would only create chaos in the near future." She reached over and grasped Marisa's hands. "Marisa, I love you like my own daughter. Even if you don't love Joshua at all, please, consider it as my debt to you. A child will secure the hearts of the people, and it will soothe a mother's heart. So please, I'm begging you. The fate of Jehanna is in your hands."

Hesitantly, Marisa withdrew her hands from the Queen's grasp. The favour was large. It would mean that she would never be able to leave the palace, that she would henceforth by permanently attached to Joshua for the rest of her life. What about Saleh? What about her father? What about Gerik and Tethys and Ewan? All these people who had been waiting for her all these months, she could not just disappoint them and disappear into the palace for the rest of her life.

Especially Saleh. How would she ever be able to face Saleh ever again, if her fate was so thoroughly entwined with Joshua's?

No, she could not agree.

She shook her head, rising from her chair at the same time. "I apologise, Queen Mother…I…I need some time to consider…" Without any word, she bolted out of the room.

It was too much for her to handle. She had never been cut out for a princess and never would be.

* * *

She slammed open the door and collapsed onto the couch. Queen Ismaire's words were still burning in her mind, giving her a throbbing headache. _My duty as a princess…My duty as a wife…my duty…my responsibility…why can't someone ever think about what I want, not what I am supposed to do?_

Belle crept up to her. "Princess, do you want a cup of tea?"

She glanced at the maidservant and managed to give a strained smile. "No, no tea. I'm fine."

Belle nodded. "If your highness wants anything, please feel free to call Belle. Your highness' colouring is not good."

"Thank you Belle, for your concern," she said tiredly. "Attend to your other errands, I'll be fine in an hour or so."

She watched as the maidservant walked away with a bundle of dirty linen in her arms, humming a merry tune.

Even a servant in the palace was happier than she was, she thought morosely. Suddenly, she felt ancient, tired, like an old lady who had seen the times, experienced almost everything and accomplished nothing.

A sense of emptiness engulfed her as she closed her eyes wearily.

Maybe a good sleep could let her escape from her troubles for a few hours.

* * *

"Your highness! Your highness!"

_Great…people are even starting to address me by me royal title in marshmallow land._

Your highness, please wake up!"

"Belle?" Her eyes snapped open. "Belle? What is it?"

The thin face with two swinging braids came into view. "Your highness, there is a young master waiting for you at the Hall of Innocence. He claims that it's an emergency and he insists on seeing your highness now."

"Oh is it?" She wondered who that could be. "Give me a minute. Tell him I will see him shortly."

Running a hand through her hair, she straightened her robes and walked briskly to the Hall of Innocence.

_Could it be one of Rennac's jokes? Or was it Saleh?_

The brown-haired man stood as she entered the room.

"Marisa, you must come with me," Saleh wasted no time in stating the purpose of his visit. "Your father is dying."

"My father?" She repeated numbly. "He's dying?" For the past twenty years of her life her father had always enjoyed the best of health.

_Haha, was this one of Saleh's jokes. _

_Wait. Saleh doesn't joke. So what was this?_

_Was it...real?_

The implications sent a shudder through her body.

"He was stabbed by a creditor for not being able to repay his gambling debts," Saleh explained hurriedly. "Ewan is taking care of him, Gerik and Tethys are away on a mission, so I have to come and fetch you. Hurry!"

She glanced back at the closed door. It was too late to go and ask Queen Ismaire for permission to leave the palace. Palace protocol would slow her down. "Saleh, meet me at the entrance. I'll leave by another way."

Nodding, Saleh dashed out of the door.

She opened the window and glanced around cautiously. Certain that the coast was clear, she climbed through the window deftly and crossed the garden. Somersaulting, she landed on the other side of the wall, fallen leaves cushioning the impact of her landing. She sprinted to where Saleh was waiting anxiously under a tree near the main gate.

"How did it happen?" she asked as she ran after him.

"The thugs followed him to a secluded field, then they attacked him in a group," Saleh explained, panting. "Your father couldn't fight all of them off, and he took a deep wound in his abdomen. Ewan and I passed by just in time to chase away the thugs, but not early enough to prevent it from happening altogether. He asked for you while we were trying to heal him."

"Is it fatal?" she asked bluntly.

Saleh hesitated. "We tried our best, but the wound seems to be too deep, and he had already lost a lot of blood. Ewan is healing him as fast as possible, but we fear the worst."

She nodded. She always knew that someday her father's gambling habit would lead him into disaster, and this seemed to be the day.

They arrived at an open field, where she spied a small flame-haired boy crouching in the middle.

"Ewan!" Saleh shouted, announcing their imminent arrival.

"Marisa!" Ewan waved, yelling back. "Master Saleh! Hurry!"

She skidded to a stop beside Ewan, looking at the crumpled human form lying on the grass in horror. When she had imagined the trouble her father's gambling habits would bring him, she had not expected this.

Her father's face was bruised purple from where he had been hit by bare fists, and he suffered cuts and multiple open wounds all over his body. Blood still poured out of the dark bloody hole in his abdomen.

Ewan waved his healing staff. "Come on…" he mumbled, eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

A blue light glowed around the wound on her father's abdomen, and the bleeding seemed to cease momentarily.

"Marisa?" Her father groaned, clutching his abdomen. He blinked several times and stared at her. "Marisa…"

"Father," she bowed her head, looking at her father's grievous injury. Saleh was right. Her father didn't have much time left. "You were looking for me, father?"

"Marisa," he reached out and grasped her hand shakily. "I'm…I'm…sorry…"

She stared at him without blinking. One simple apology from her usually stern and haughty father was enough to rob away all the resentment and anger she had once felt towards him. "Father…it's not your fault," she swallowed, suppressing the misery and fear that was welling up in her heart. "It's fated…"

"My dear child…" Her father closed his eyes briefly. "You've never called me…papa…ever since…your mother died…"

_Papa._

The word had been lying dormant in her mind ever since her mother's passing. With its resurfacing, other memories were triggered in a series, like a chain of dominoes. She recalled her father holding her up in the air and her mother laughing, their family having a picnic underneath the cherry tree by the river, her mother baking a cherry pie for dinner…

Too much emotions, too much of the past was dug up in one moment. The tears spilled involuntarily from her eyes.

"Do you want me to?" she asked, tearing.

"Yes…please…" her father pleaded weakly.

"Papa…" Her voice was reduced to a hollow whisper. She was again a little girl, still wobbly when she walked from her father's embrace to her mother's lap. "Papa…"

Her father smiled peacefully. "Child…I have so much…to say…too little time…your mother…you resemble her…"

The image of a woman with long straight magenta hair and a warm smile resurfaced in her mind. Her hands were calloused from housework, but they had always smelt of cherries, pastries and dinner. Her embrace was always warm, always welcoming. The words fell from her lips gently, having a soothing effect on her whenever she was feeling upset.

"Marisa…darling child…I…" her father coughed. Several drops of blood landed on her hand. "I…"

"He's fading…" Ewan said in horror. "Sir! Sir! Can you hear me? The heal staff isn't working anymore."

"Let it be, Ewan," she instructed, tears falling thickly from her eyes. There was only one thing they could do for her father now, and that was to let him go peacefully.

Her father sighed, a hollow sound. Bubbles of blood emerged at the corners of his mouth. His pupils dilated till the purple faded into a pale pink. His hands cooled. "Elena…"

_Elena. _Mother.

His face relaxed, the muscles sagging. A ghost of a smile remained on his lips as his hands slipped from her grip and lay limp on the grass. His eyes closed for the last time.

"Papa?" She whispered, refusing to accept the truth. "Papa? Papa! Wake up! Papa…" Those words that had never once left her lips in the past fifteen years seemed to pour from her mouth as she called for her father. "Papa…" It was hopeless; it was inevitable. Her last blood kin had died, leaving her alone in the world all by herself.

There would be no more father for her, no one left to ask her for money when she returned home one day, no one to criticize her swordplay, no one to admonish her over her mistakes…she was truly alone.

"Marisa?" Saleh placed a hand on her shoulder in concern. Gently, he took his white handkerchief and helped her wipe away her tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she stifled a sob, swallowing. "Everyone dies, sooner or later."

"You'll still have me around…" He placed his arms around her and patted her back comfortingly. His face was constricted with grief as he comforted her slowly.

"How do we bury him?" Ewan asked, shifting nervously.

"Ewan!" Saleh chided. "That's so insensitive!"

"No, it's alright…it has to be done…" She stood up drying her tears. "He would want to be cremated, and have his ashes blown away by the wind. That was the way he saw Mother off."

"Do you want to have a little more time?" Saleh asked gently. "We have time."

She glanced at the cold motionless body of her father. He would never wake up again from that body. He was gone, leaving behind an empty shell in the world. _No He had gone on to somewhere better. With Mother._

"I don't need the time," she said, trying to stop sniffing. "Saleh, do you have an Elfire tome?"

He drew out the book from one of the deep pockets of his cloak. "Now? He asked hesitantly.

She nodded.

Mumbling an incantation, he flipped open the thick tome and conjured a fireball in his hands. Drawing a triangle of magic in the air, he cast the fireball towards her father's body.

A wall of brilliant red flames rose from the ground. The tongues of flames licked her father's body, slowly consuming the body, clothes and all, leaving a pile of white ash.

_It feels like…watching a part of me die…_She withheld the tears that were threatening to flow. _No, Father would hate to see me in this state. He would want me to be strong after his death._

They watched silently as the funeral pyre finally died down, leaving nothing but ash and dust in its wake. A strong gust of wind blew past and carried the ashes away in the direction of the distant mountains.

"Do you need…my company Marisa?" Saleh offered.

She stepped away from his proffered hand. "It's alright Saleh. I'm fine. I just…need some time to recover…"

_Father…_

Blindly, she bolted away, heedless of Saleh's frantic calls.

_Father…Mother…_

The tears streamed down her face as she tore through the trees, not caring where she was going.

_I'm sorry…_

In the distance, the sound of thunder rolled.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter is sadly, not very well-done in my opinion. It seems more like a plot chapter instead of a emotion chapter, and I am definitely better at the latter. Sorry for the descriptions at the last part. Truth to be told, I've never been faced with death in my life, so I haven't experienced first-hand the sensation, so it wasn't very well-done. Of course, I do not hope to experience it anytime soon. I think I'll be happy writing crappy death scenes for the rest of my life. Yay. **

**Haha, but the politics will be coming around pretty soon. You can see the stuff already building up. There will be intrigue, I promise, and there will be scheming and evil people plotting and confusing relationships with heirs, national security, betrayal, judgement, faith, illness, plots all thrown together into a crescendo.**

**By the way, this chapter's ending is supposed to be a cliffhanger. What a failure of a cliffhanger. -.-**

**Cheerios, (I'll do better the next chapter) **

**snowylavendermist (Friday, 9.30 am, in a gloomy mood because this chapter is not one of her best )**


	15. Shackles of Delirium

**Shackles of Delirium**

_There is little to say since the title is self-explanatory. When one is possessed by a bout of delirium, one hardly knows what he or she is doing, usually with unforeseen consequences._

* * *

Laughing madly to herself, she stumbled through the trees, occasionally swerving just in time to stop herself from colliding into an outstretched branch.

The heavens had opened on the night of her father's death, sending a continuous thunderstorm that lasted till now, nearly dawn. She had stayed in the rain for approximately six hours now, wandering aimlessly through the grass and trees, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, sometimes frowning, sometimes smiling.

The cream and black robe was thoroughly soaked, and had turned nearly transparent. The wet satin stuck to her skin like a protective layer, dripping beads in rainwater in continuous streams. Her fingers were numb from the cold, and her breath came out laboured and shallow. She was sore all over from the assault of the sharp raindrops and the merciless wind, both of which seemed to cut deeply into her flesh, lacerate her heart and rendered her bloody and helpless.

But to her, everything was a blessing from heaven. The heavens had sent the lightning and thunder to welcome her father through the doors of heaven, and the heavy downpour signified the cleansing of all the footprints he had treaded on Magvel. As such, the thunderstorm was something to rejoice, and she should stay out for as long as possible in order to send her father off.

_Father…_She swung her shamshir recklessly, slicing off the scion of a tree, dodging just in time to avoid being hit by the falling section. _Father…Are you happy up there with Mother?_

She tripped over a jutting root on the ground, camouflaged by the darkness, and stumbled.

When her father had been alive and well, she had never seemed to care much about him. As the daughter of an avid gambler, her duty to her father was to pay his gambling debts and place food on the table every time he happened to lose all his money and came home to whine about his losses. She had harboured little respect for him, and felt more anger, disgust and even perhaps a little hatred. Often, she had wished to be out of his grip, to have been born as someone else's daughter.

But now that he had died, he had left her forever and there was nothing left in her heart except regret and sorrow. It seemed as though the storm had washed all the nasty feelings she had harboured against her father and replaced it with desperate longing and fond memories.

_Father…_A line of tears ran down her cheek. Now she had so much to say to him, too much to apologise, but she would never have the opportunity again. Why did man never learn to treasure what they possess and only regret after what they once had slipped from their grip forever?

She sniffed and wiped her wet face with the back of her hand, then resumed her crazed laughter. _Oh…but I am so alone now in this world…alone and single…without anybody around me to protect me anymore…no aim; no purpose; no intentions…_

"Maybe I would wake up tomorrow and find all this is just a dream…" she mused silently, accidentally bumping her head into an overhanging tree branch. "Oww…" she rubbed her head forcefully, sitting on the ground, glaring at the offending tree branch. With a wave of her shamshir, she chopped off the shamshir with a swift stroke.

"Hmm…what was I thinking of before that?" she muttered to herself. "Oh! About how this was a dream…"

_A dream…yes, this must be a dream…_she mumbled. _What a strange dream this is…_She looked around. _Where am I? How did I get here? What happened? _She stared around confusedly. _Oh never mind, Papa will find me if I don't go home soon._

She traipsed in the rain a little further, kicking at the muddy puddles, until she saw a white brick wall blocking her path.

"Ohh…a wall…" She pointed at the long white-brick wall before her and giggled. She had wandered…how many hours was it now? "I wonder what's behind it…" Smoothly, she executed a perfect somersault and leapt atop the wall.

"A cherry tree?" She clapped her hands and smiled. She liked cherry tree. They were short but produced good solid wood. The flowers were small beautiful and fragrant. The fruits were delicious. _I love cherry trees!_

She jumped into the tree, landing neatly on a branch and looked around amongst the leaves eagerly. "Huh? No cherries?" she pouted. "No one grows cherries! All the cherry trees don't produce cherries anymore!"

Heavily, she sat down the branch. Papa would like this tree. It was big and sturdy, and it would be good for spying on people walking past below the tree. She sniggered at the thought. _Spying? Hehe, I would eat the cherries and throw at the cherry pits at those ugly fat uncles with balding heads who waddle past! _Her legs dangling in mid-air, she hummed a happy tune Mama had once taught her.

"A light?" Her eyes widened at the sight of a warm glowing orange light in a distance, coming from a building with graceful arched roofs. It looked like the kind of light that Papa liked to make in the fireplace, a welcoming, warm fire that she could sit in front of and warm her frozen hands. Mama liked to seat in a chair by the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and mending one of Papa's old shirts. She wrinkled her nose as she thought of Papa's old shirts. They were so full of little tears and holes because other people's swords would tear the shirts here and there whenever they challenged Papa to a duel.

_Papa always wins,_ she thought, a fierce pride burning in her chest.

The light looked so inviting…and her hands were a little cold…just a little…Maybe she could go and see what was there. _Hee. If anyone sees me I shall dash out before they can even see my face._

Slowly, she crept down from the tree and tiptoed towards the source of the light. It came from a window. Silently, she peeped into the room. It was well furnished with heavy expensive-looking furniture. The couch was lined with satin spreads and covered by numerous downy cushions. The fireplace was burning brightly, just like what Papa used to make in their house.

Stealthily, she crept to the door and tested the doorknob. The door was unlocked! Eagerly, she tiptoed into the room, making a wet beeline for the fireplace. Kicking off her sodden boots, she dug her toes into the soft carpet and placed her hands in front of the fire, enjoying the warmth slowly creeping into her fingers.

_I like this place…_she thought cheerfully. _Such a big house with such nice things…and nobody to live in either! I can go call Papa and Mama here to live with me in this big cozy house!_

There was the sound of harried footsteps approaching the door.

Shocked, she stood up and bolted to the door. If she could dash out before the owners came back, she would not get caught since they would not see her face!

A tall man stepped into the room, wearing richly embroidered robes and a jeweled crown on his head. He had lovely long red hair that fell to his waist, and he held an exquisite sword in one hand.

He gasped when he saw her.

_Oh no…_she grimaced worriedly. _He saw me, and I can't escape…what shall I do? He'll tell the others to come and get me. He'll ask his servants to beat me. _She stood, frightened, twiddling her thumbs.

"Marisa?" The strange man walked towards her. "What…what happened to you?"

She jumped back frowning, away from this weird man wearing expensive stuff. How did he know her name? And who was he to ask her what happened? All she did was see a light and come in to warm herself a little! What was wrong with that? She pouted sullenly.

"Marisa?" The man walked closer towards her, a bewildered expression on his face,

She stared at the man, then turned away, resting her eyes fixedly on the door. If she could to the door while he was advancing…she made a mad dash for the door, for her escape to freedom.

Quick as a flash, he held out his arms and caught her before she could run away. She struggled, kicked, clawed, scratched, thrashed, but regardless of whatever violent action she used to scare him or wound him, he held on fast, shouting her name again and again and urging her to calm down.

Finally, she settled down, muttering glumly under her breath, hands behind her back, head hung low.

"Marisa? Tell me what happened?" The strange man demanded, gripping her arms tightly.

"How do you know my name?" she retorted resentfully. "Who are you?"

His eyes widened at her words. He had nice eyes, large and crimson, except that they were currently filled with alarm and disbelief.

"Marisa?" he frowned. "You…don't know who I am?"

"No!" She winced as his fingers dug painfully into her arms. "You're hurting me!"

He slackened his grip on her, but still wore the same expression. "Are you sure you don't remember who I am? Me? You're not playing a joke on me, are you? Marisa? Answer me!"

She was getting a little dizzy from his shaking as he demanded an answer. "No!" she replied morosely. "I have no idea who you are. Let go of me before I get my Papa to fight you!" _If Papa was here, he'll beat this bad man and make him release me. Then he'll throw this bad man out of the house and we'll live here, Papa, Mama and I. The three of us can live happily ever over without this strange man._

"Marisa?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You really don't know who I am? Joshua? Your husband? The Prince of Jehanna? The one who spars with you? The one you share a room with? Marisa!"

"Go away!" she shrieked. "I don't know who you are." She pushed him away with all her strength and shrank back against the wall. She didn't have a husband. "Papa…" she bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. _Papa always helps me out of these situations. Where's Papa?_

The strange man seemed to become even more bewildered at her words. "Papa?" he repeated. "Your father?"

"Do you know him?" she asked eagerly. If this man knew Papa, she was saved! No one would touch her knowing Papa's reputation as a swordmaster!

"I know him…" The man enunciated slowly. "I won the hand of his daughter in a gamble three months…" He took a careful step towards her. "If you are his daughter, don't you remember being married, wedded to a prince?" He advanced towards her further. "Do you not remember the first night, when I asked you to call me darling?"

Her head was hurting. The tears spilled down her cheeks. She did not know what this man was talking about, what he was demanding…what was he talking about? Her head ached painfully. She must have hit her head on the branch a little harder than she thought. She placed a hand on her forehead gingerly and yelped. Her forehead was burning!

"Remember our first sparring match in the garden? I won because I caught you by the ankle…" The man was standing right before her, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. "Do you remember Winchester and Amber, and how I taught you to ride?"

Ride? She knew how to ride? Her head throbbed painfully, as though trying to pull something out of the depths of her mind. Ride? Horses? There did seem to be a horse in her memory…where?

"Remember our first kiss?" He clasped her hands in his and held it above his heart. "Do you remember the cherry pie? Yes? How you dashed out after the kiss ended?"

"Please…" she whimpered. Her head hurt too much for her to bear. The room was getting hot, and she felt as though she was burning up in a furnace. "Please…stop…" _Papa…help me…_

He had not intention of following her wishes. "Do you remember last night? We shared a room and bed for the first time…"

Vague images of a red satin nightgown and a large bed tumbled in her mind, accompanied by a headache that seemed to split her skull into two with the pain.

"No…" Her vision clouded. Her head spun, and felt herself stagger. Instinctively, she grabbed hold of his arm for support. She could not remember…what were those things? She could not, did not remember…

_Papa. _She called desperately in her mind. _Mama._

Her world was swamped by blackness.

* * *

She was running.

She ran and ran and ran, not caring to stop and find out where she was going. Pure instinct told her to carry on running until either something or someone stopped her, or till she dropped dead from over-exhaustion.

Her surroundings were strange. There was nothing, not even solid ground at her feet, except for a pure pristine whiteness. Everything, as far as her eyes could see, was white like virgin snow. She could not even be sure that she was in fact moving forward as she ran.

Was she running on the spot? Shrugging, she dismissed the query. Even if she was jogging on the spot, she still needed to run. Something instructed her to run, and she was sure of the existence of that command. Who and what that something was…she could not be sure.

_Marisa…_

The voice resounded vaguely through the atmosphere (if there even was one). She shook her head and persisted her running, as though the voice was a figment of her imagination.

_Marisa…_

The voice was more solid this time, and it was louder. Just as she had done before, she dismissed the voice. One started hearing things pretty often while one was fatigued from running.

"Marisa…" A figure materialized in front of her, blocking her path (assuming that she was moving).

She paused, shrugged and resumed running.

"Marisa." The figure held out a hand, stopping her.

"Father, take your hand away," she said crossly, panting for air. "I need to run."

Her father laughed good-naturedly. "My dear child, and where are you running to so anxiously?"

She hesitated, at a loss for words. Where was she running to again? Oh right, it didn't matter; her aim was to keep running. "Father, it doesn't matter," she snapped testily. "I just need to." She tired to run around him, but no matter how she tried to maneuver, he always stood directly before her, solidly obstructing her path.

"Marisa, my child," her father said gently. "What do you see?"

She narrowed her eyes. First her father appeared from nowhere and steadfastly implanted himself smack in her path, now he posed bizarre abstruse philosophical questions to her? "White, lots and lots of white," she answered impatiently. "Now may I go on father?"

Her father laughed again. "What do you see, child?" he smiled gently. "Look carefully, Marisa. What do you see?"

She replied without even glancing around. "White, father. We're surrounded by white. Only white."

Her father shook his head. "You aren't looking carefully enough. Try again."

Annoyed, she followed her father's instructions and took a brief overview of the surroundings. Strangely, everything had changed. It was no longer white, but a deep grayish colour, like the clouds before a thunderstorm.

"It's grey…" she frowned. How did the surroundings change colour without her even noticing?

"Good," her father nodded. "Continue looking."

"It's still grey," she replied with a hint of boredom in her voice.

"Look harder, Marisa," her father said sternly. "I won't let you pass until you see what colour it is."

She stared resignedly at her surroundings. It was still steel grey, with a blackish tinge to it. "It's still grey," she repeated, sighing. "This is a waste of time, father. Why can't-Oh…"

The grey colours swirled before her very eyes, spinning as though they were in a vortex. Shades of grey began to differentiate themselves: the dark greys were suspended at the bottom beneath her feet, the steel greys floated at the top, and the lightest greys bordering along white were hovering at the top.

The colours continued to polarize, the top getting lighter, the bottom getting darker, until the top looked like the former pristine virgin white that had once constituted the surroundings, while the bottom was jet black, almost like a bottomless pit waiting for her to drop down and suck her in.

She frowned in bewilderment. "Father?" She did not comprehend this shifting of colours.

"Keep watching, child." Her father commanded. "Focus. Concentrate. Search for the colours."

The greys began shifting again, separating amongst their individual shades. Spots of colour gradually seemed to emerge from the depth of the grey, spinning and swirling incessantly as they became larger and larger. "I see…" she stared. "I see red, like the colour of blood…and brown! Like the chocolate cakes Mother used to bake! And pink, magenta in fact…the colour of your hair and mine…And…"

"Okay," her father interrupted her. "Empty your mind, Marisa. Open yourself. Open your heart. Open her mind. Close your eyes and take five deep breaths. Pull yourself together. Focus! Focus!"

The various hues seemed to respond to her actions. They reintegrated into grey, lumpy patches of grey of the dullest shades. _Breathe…_she told herself mentally as she closed her eyes. _Focus on emptying your mind, open your mind, open your heart…_

She re-opened her eyes, just in time to see the colours mixing again to form different shades. She felt as though she was trapped in an iridescent bubble, looking at the colours reflecting off its surface. She reached out hesitantly to touch the surface of the bubble, only to find that there was nothing.

"I see…" she scrutinized the colours carefully. "Light brown…what? Light brown curls…Saleh?" The colours seemed to have heard her calling, and now the brown flowed across the top and positioned itself adjacent to the beige. "Brown and beige…twin spots of deep brown…" She knitted her brows in concentration. "Father? Is that Saleh?"

"Is it?" her father answered equivocally. "You tell me." He sounded triumphant.

The brown hair certainly matched, and the beige was almost definitely Saleh's skin tone…the bright brown eyes… "It is!" She exclaimed. "Saleh!"

Her father nodded. "Can you see anymore?"

She hardly waited for her father to finish. "That one there, with the sandy tuft and the tan…that's Gerik! And Tethys beside, with the red hair and pale complexion…is that red fluffball Ewan?" she giggled.

The reds continued flowing, becoming a long crimson waterfall. The beige and brown mixed together, forming dark beige, like the colour of a lightly tanned complexion. Two drops of red separated from the tips of the waterfall and journeyed to the centre of the viscous beige colour, forming two almond shaped drops of colour.

"Is that…" _Joshua. _

"Your heart shall tell you that, Marisa," her father smiled knowingly.

"Joshua…" She stared fixedly as the colours swerved till they formed an exact likeness of him. The same eyes, the same hair, the same nose…Her surroundings had changed drastically. She was no longer in a white vacant space by herself. Instead, a lush carpet appeared at her feet, and furniture formed from nothing. She watched as Joshua sat himself on the couch and exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. His face was a constricted mask of regret and depression. He looked haggard, almost like Saleh when he came to visit the previous times. His eyes were filled with sorrow and worry.

Instinctively, she reached out her hand to comfort him, but found that her hand passed through him as though he was empty air. "What?" She backed away in shock and turned to her father. "Why?"

Her father smiled and nodded gravely. "Marisa, you yourself should know best. Only you can help yourself."

"Father…what do you see?" She asked, confused.

"I?" Her father grinned. "I see what I am supposed to see. White and more white, and your mother waiting for me."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Father…" She bit her lower lip, eyes beginning to fill up with tears.

"The world doesn't stop revolving, child," her father explained. "You have still much to do. You still have much to accomplish."

"I understand father," she nodded swiftly. "Thank you."

"Return to where you belong Marisa," her father smiled benignly. "You won't regret it…"

She nodded again. She knew exactly what to do. _Enough voyaging, Marisa. Time to return to where you belong._ "Farewell…" she whispered. "Papa…I love you…"

As she felt a strong force pull her into a spinning whirlpool of air, she heard the words, softly but clearly.

"I love you too, child."

* * *

The first sense of awareness was warmth. She was covered by a warm material, and she was blanketed by a even warmer material. Momentarily, she speculated whether she was lying in middle of the Jehannan desert during midday wrapped in a thick blanket of down.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She recognized the room, she remembered the bed, and she recalled what happened. Groaning, she attempted to move her fingers and toes, but they were stiff and awkward.

_Damn,_ she cursed mentally. _Now I have immobility problems…_

Groaning, she wriggled her legs and body. _Good, they are finally moving. Time to get back into action, lazy bones. _Shifting uncomfortably, she moved one arm and then the other, propping herself up with much difficulty.

"Marisa?" Joshua lifted his head from where he had sleeping in a chair beside the bed. "Marisa! You're awake!

"Joshua…" she said in a small voice, attempting to sit up.

"You know who I am? Grea-No, don't move!" He tucked her back beneath the suffocating pile of blankets. "I'll go call Mother and Natasha."

"No," she croaked, holding out a hand. "I'm fine." She struggled to sit up again, stubbornly propping herself up on one hand.

Joshua rushed to support her. "Stay here, Marisa, I'll be back after I tell the rest the good news."

"No!" she protested weakly. "What time is it?"

He took out an antique silver pocket watch. "Two in the morning."

She sighed and leant against the soft pillows. "Don't trouble them. I'll be fine in a while."

"No you won't," Joshua replied. "I'm going to call them."

"If you call them I shall get out of bed," she threatened, even though her voice was hoarse.

He paused, as though weighing the two options. Finally, he gave in. "Must you be so difficult even when you're ill?" he sighed, sitting beside her bedside. He ran a hand through her hair. "You stupid girl…running through the rain like that…Do you know how worried we were? Mother worried herself sick for you."

"My father died…" she hung her head.

Silently, he put his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I heard. You silly girl. Would your late father have been happy to see you putting yourself in such danger? He would have been even more distraught to see you in this state," he whispered, stroking her hair. "We were all worried that the fever would persist."

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Two weeks," he sighed heavily. "All of us have been doing everything in a constant state of fear and worry for the past two weeks, dropping in as often as we can to check on your health. Marisa…you worried me sick."

She disentangled herself and took a close look at his face. He did indeed look like the picture that had appeared while she was unconscious. Black eye bags featured prominently on his face, evidence of his lack of sleep. "Were you waiting beside me every night?" she asked softly.

He nodded, then pulled her into his embrace again. "Don't you do anything that foolish again. I think I'll just die of worry if something like that happens again."

"I'm sorry…" she apologized in a small voice, leaning her head against his chest.

"Do you want some porridge?" He asked suddenly. "You must be hungry. I'll get you some from the kitchen."

She suddenly released how hungry she was. Her stomach growled loudly. She must have been living off sheer healing by staves since the night she fell ill with fever.

He laughed as he exited the room. He returned in less than two minutes, carrying a porcelain bowl filled with white porridge and a silver spoon.

He sat beside her, holding the bowl carefully in one hand. Scooping a spoonful of porridge, he blew gently on the steaming porridge. "Careful, it's hot," he said gently as he offered the porridge to her lips.

She opened her lips gratefully and let the porridge slide down her throat. It was hot, but not burning, thanks to his hardworking blowing. She tasted cinnamon and a variety of other mild spices.

"Is it nice?" he asked anxiously, another spoonful in hand.

She nodded. It tasted different from what the royal cooks produced. "Did you cook it yourself?"

"I've cooking porridge every night since you fell ill," he confessed, sounding slightly embarrassed. "In case you wake up in the middle of the night and feel hungry."

Subtle warmth poured into her heart and flooded her veins. A faint blush rose to her cheeks as his words sank in. She chewed on her lower lip nervously.

"More porridge?" He suggested, lifting another spoonful. His cheeks, too, had turned slightly pink.

She opened her mouth obediently, looking at him. "Thank you."

He smiled warmly. "You don't have to thank me, Marisa. We're husband and wife, after all." He blew gently on the porridge. "I am just happy that you are safe and sound and you remember who I am."

She swallowed another mouthful. Her heart leapt at his words.

Her father was right…she hardly regretted returning.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, no politics this chapter. There will be in the next few. Gosh, I'm uber tired out.**


	16. Shackles of Eavesdropping

**Shackles of Eavesdropping**

_Eavesdropping is a detestable habit that some people have. They hear things that they are not supposed to hear and then spread it around as the latest news, usually distorting thr story in a horrifying way._

_But sometimes, eavesdropping is a way of finding out valuable information. But the informtion is often inaccurate, incormplete, inadequate...amongst other things. As such, it is not always reliable. And we often require our own thinking to figure out a way to piece together the fragements that we hear..._

* * *

"Joshua!" Marisa folded her arms before her chest. "I can walk by myself without external assistance."

Joshua still held on firmly onto her arm, steering her towards the sofa. "Nope," he smiled infuriatingly. "I have learnt never to trust you to your own devices again. You'll probably knock your leg and bruise your skin or something."

She rolled her eyes. _Infuriating man!_

"Your highness!" Belle practically flew into the room in haste. "There's a distinguished guest looking for you. It's-"

"MARISA!" A woman squealed shrilly and catapulted herself at Marisa, enveloping her in a crushing hug. "It's so good to see you again! Do you know how worried I was when I heard news of your illness? It was _so_ disturbing that I couldn't sleep for two nights consecutive, right Rennac?"

L'Arachel let go of Marisa and glanced around, before skipping to the door. "Rennac! What are you still loitering around there for? Don't _touch_ that vase! It's expensive you know! And it's not yours! You need to get permission to touch something that is not yours!"

Rennac promptly appeared at the door, dragging his heels. "Ow!" He said when L'Arachel took his arm and dragged him over. "You need permission to touch my arm, you know!" he said indignantly. "It's not yours!"

"Not mine?" L'Arachel said sweetly and fluttered her eyelashes. "You sure it's not mine? You, as my escort, is 100% mine and only mine and mine only!"

Rennac rolled his eyes, but made no attempt to remove L'Arachel's hand. "Hello Marisa." He swept Joshua a deep bow. "Greetings, distinguished Prince Joshua of Jehanna, what a delight to be of acquaintance again."

_Uh oh._

Joshua's eyes narrowed, and his jaw was set firmly. He gave a small nod in Rennac's direction. "Greetings, Sir Rennac."

"You two know each other?" L'Arachel gasped, flabbergasted. "I wanted to introduce all of you to each other…"

Rennac and Joshua both ignored her. "So what brings you here to my castle this fine day?" Joshua drawled, tightening his hold on Marisa's arm. One of his arms snaked protectively around her waist.

_If only Joshua would be slightly less defensive…_Marisa sighed inwardly. _He's turning into Innes whenever he sees Rennac…but that fellow could do better than use that horribly disrespecting and mocking tone with Joshua! What's wrong with men? Always fighting…_

"As my lady's escort, I am expected to accompany her wherever I go, right?" Rennac replied smoothly. "And my lady happens to fancy a visit to Jehanna to visit Princess Marisa I cannot simply refuse because the prince and I possess certain misunderstandings, right?"

"Aptly put," Joshua smiled, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "I, however, do not believe that we have any misunderstandings between more. I personally believe the right phrase would be 'deep understanding'."

_Could they stop verbally sparring already? _Marisa sighed again. _They are really turning into Ephraim and Innes. They seem to have this bitter rivalry ever since they met at the ball at Renais, even though they had scarcely exchanged more than four sentences._

"Why don't the two of you sort out your problems here," L'Arachel interrupted, suggesting. "While Marisa and I go talk here in the next room."

"About?" Rennac raised an eyebrow.

"Girl stuff." L'Arachel giggled at Rennac's instantaneous look of revulsion and shudder of horror.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Joshua turned Marisa around to face him. "You haven't fully recovered yet, so don't exert yourself. If you need anything or are not feeling well, just call me and I'll be there in a second."

Rennac rolled his eyes and examined his fingernails, rubbing his cuticles.

* * *

L'Arachel took a gulp of the tea. "You know…Joshua has been acting pretty weirdly ever since he married you."

Marisa raised an eyebrow as she lounged on the sofa. _Really? _She never did notice anything different. He was just as annoying, just as sarcastic and just as surprising all the time.

L'Arachel nodded. "He used to write to me and complain about all the royal etiquette and stuff that he was made to learn. And at balls he used to disappear till the ball was over. And he used to tell me all that happened in Jehanna. But his last letter came four months ago, telling me that he was getting married. Then he stopped writing. No letter, no complaint, no greetings, nothing!" L'Arachel wailed. "I thought that he had forgotten all about me!"

_He's always a little on the fickle side. _Marisa shrugged. _You can hardly blame him, he has Natasha and harems of beautiful women._

"And during the ball he was so protective of you," L'Arachel continued. "And today, did you see?" She giggled and leant in closer and whispered. "He was jealous of Rennac!" She threw back her head and laughed. "You could almost see the jealousy flaring in his eyes. If I wasn't trying to control my laughter, I'll have been angry at him for not being jealous over me. After all, I am the most beautiful girl in Magvel!"

_He wasn't jealous over L'Arachel? He was jealous? Since when? _Marisa frowned in puzzlement. "He was?"

L'Arachel made an exaggerated hand gesture. "Pooh! You mean you never noticed it? To have two men fighting over you and you never knew it at all?" L'Arachel giggled again. "They were arguing over you!"

_Me? _Marisa's eyes grew round in bewilderment.

L'Arachel nodded. "Yup, over you! Fancy that! Arguing over you when the most beautiful girl in Magvel was in the room," she examined her nails as Rennac had done. "But oh well! Rennac wasn't really the one who started it. Technically it is just Joshua who was jealous so it's still understandable I guess." She blew on her fingernails gently. "No one can seem to resist my delectable charm."

_Are we talking about the same Joshua here? _Marisa shook her head in disbelief. _Why would Joshua be jealous over me? Is she a little not right in the head this morning?_

"You don't believe me?" L'Arachel pouted. "I tell you, he was jealous over you! Really! He's so in love with you that he's like jealous over every male who has close contact with you!" She began wailing again. "It's unfair! Why don't I have such a devoted boyfriend or husband or whatever?"

_Okay, definitely not right in the head this morning. L'Arachel was definitely spewing nonsense again. She was right? How could Joshua be in love with her? He loved Natasha, or so I thought…was it a misunderstanding? URGH, so confusing and all this is giving me a migraine…_

"Can you keep a secret, Marisa?" L'Arachel said timidly. Without waiting for a reply, she continued. "I think…I'm in love with Rennac…"

_RENNAC? _Marisa's mouth formed a large 'O'.

"I…I don't know why it happened," L'Arachel wrung her hands in distress. "I just…woke up one day and thought like…oh my gosh, I'm in love…you know those kind of things…like this sudden revelation?" She flittered around the room like a trapped butterfly. "What should I do?" She cried in despair. "He'll never love me! I've tried everything: changing dresses, hairstyles, manner, behaviour…and he's never interested!"

_I wonder why…_Marisa thought amusedly. _If she dangled the key to the Rausten treasury before him maybe he'll show slightly more interest…_

"Can you help me?" L'Arachel collapsed on her knees on the floor before Marisa. "Please?"

_What?_

"You know Rennac pretty well, and he talks to you more than he talks to me," L'Arachel begged, eyes tearing. "You could try and be our matchmaker!"

Marisa attempted to sit still and not break out in laughter over the sheer ridiculousness of L'Arachel's plea. She wanted _her_ to be their matchmaker? Probably she would succeed on the day all of Jehanna bows down to her. Considering that she was a princess in name and not elected by the people, that day would probably never come.

"I'll try," she said hesitantly. Looking at L'Arachel's overjoyed face, she felt a little guilty, since she knew that she would never even attempt the task, let alone succeed. It was not that she refused to help L'Arachel; it was more of a question of if those words could ever pass her lips. She was not born to discuss these things, and she had zero experience in these matchmaking issues.

_Wasn't L'Arachel supposed to be the stereotypical matchmaker?_

"Alright then!" L'Arachel jumped around the room in joy. "Thank you SO much, Marisa! You're the best! I hereby elevate you to the status of 'best friend forever bff'!" She gave a radiant guileless smile.

* * *

Rennac was waiting outside when they came out. "Your husband went off to do some _official_ stuff," he snickered. "That man really hates my guts. We had a verbal spar for half an hour, imagine!" He threw up his hands. "My princess, would you kindly wait for me in the Hall of Equanimity please? I would like to spend some time with my friend here to discuss some…issues…"

L'Arachel pouted. "You can't slip away like last time again at Renais Castle okay! You must come okay! PLEASEEEEEEEEE…"

"Okay okay, I'll go…" he promised as L'Arachel whooped in glee and went out of the room. "Heck, that woman will be the death of me!"

Marisa leant against the couch and stared at him inquiringly.

"I heard your father died," he started. "My condolences."

She nodded, but waited for him to continue. He did not ask her to stay just to comfort her over her father's decease. He was not a man who cared for the lives and deaths of others. He was a selfish man through and through, and he harboured his own wants.

"I propose that you leave with me," he suggested, placing his hands amicably on his knees.

_What?_ Rennac and L'Arachel now seemed to be a natural pair; they never failed to astound her with their outrageous statements.

"If you really want to know, your husband left to find that healer Natasha," he explained bluntly. "Obviously he does not care a whit about you. I was thinking you and I could abscond together."

"Abscond. With you." _Is he mad to suggest such a scheme? It was crazy, daring, and nonsensical and the product of a mind made delusional by wine._

"You know, I was expecting a yes or a no." He fingered a gold trinket shaped in a shoe that was placed on the mantelpiece. "We could fill our purses with all those baubles they have in their treasury and all around their palace, then flip over the wall and run. Your husband will be too busy with his tête-à-tête with his lover to know, and L'Arachel…well…she's safely out of the way. The servants certainly, as proven by past experience, are more or less blind. No one will know."

"That's outrageous." _Their treasury…their palace…it is my treasury and my palace as well, and he expects me to rob my own house? _"We scarcely know each other."

"I'm wounded," he said, feigning a sharp pain in the chest. "I probably know you better than that husband of yours."

…_How much exactly did she know about Joshua? And how much did he know about her? _If her estimates were correct, it certainly was not an impressive amount. "You don't love me."

Rennac laughed. "And that husband of your does?" He threw her a calculated look. "I don't love, Marisa, anything besides money. Certainly, my prompt of forsaking your husband is not a ploy of passion or desire. You and I could be very good partners at work. We can become very rich, Marisa, very rich beyond your wildest imaginations." He placed the tiny gilded shoe into his pocket slowly. "Weigh the options Marisa. You could stay in the palace with your faithless husband and live a life of boredom and misery, pining for love. Or, you could leave with me, to freedom, glamour and wealth. Money can buy you love," he smirked. "Trust me."

She felt as though suddenly, someone had thrown her into a pit of darkness. First, L'Arachel tells her that Joshua loves her. Next, Rennac contradicts everything L'Arachel just said by telling her Joshua was having a rendezvous with Natasha, who was presumably his alleged lover.

_No, Joshua doesn't love you, _she thought wildly. _You're a fool to even believe L'Arachel's words for one second. She's the one who thinks the whole world loves her!_

Life in the palace was, as Rennac had accurately summarized, boring and dull. There was nowhere where she could employ her talents, and she often feared that soon her skills with a sword would atrophy into nothingness. Joshua had attempted to keep his promise to spar with her, but his schedule was so busy that every night, he tumbled onto their bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

_Should I go? _The picture Rennac had painted with deeply enticing. It whispered of fountains of golden coins, mountains of jewels and gemstones of every kind, and an exotic adventure that would take them, two daring thieves, from the shining streets of Rausten to the quaint pebbled roads of Frelia.

After so long without setting for an adventure, her heart ached for the sense of thrill and excitement.

_Yes! _She thought resolutely. _I should go. There is nothing left for me in this castle. If I go, I can still see Gerik and Tethys, Ewan and Saleh. They would be happy for me too._

_But Joshua…_she shook her head. He was messing around with her mind.

_Ignore him, he's not worth it, _she chided herself mentally. _He doesn't even love you. Besides, he has Natasha to keep him company._

The picture of Joshua feeding her porridge in their bed resurfaced in her mind. Involuntarily, her heart clenched. She would miss him, wouldn't she? He had been playing a large role in her life in the past six months. It was almost as if she had grown…comfortable with him.

_Go! There won't be another chance like this. Escape!_

She thought of his long hair, fanned out against the pillows as he slept.

_Hurry! There's not much time left! Tell Rennac that you will go with him!_

She felt his warmth surrounding her, his arms around her waist, his chest pressed tightly against her back as he slept.

_Could you stop giving yourself these images about Joshua? You're starting to act as though you are in love with him!_

She recalled his lips against hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth gently as he pressed her tightly against him.

_NO, you are NOT in love with him! I forbid you!_

She remembered his musky scent, the one that enveloped her whenever he embraced her. It was the scent that currently perfumed their bedroom, and for some unknown reason that she could not fathom, the bedroom had become one of her favourite places in the last month.

_You…are hopeless. Go with Rennac._

No.

_Yes, leave with him, now. _

I'll regret it.

_You'll regret it the day Innes stops quarreling with Ephraim. GO._

I can't. I don't think-

_There's nothing left to consider. There's nothing left to even think about. Just go and make yourself happy for once._

Should I? I should right?

_Yes._

Yes.

_YES!_

Yes, go.

_GO!_

Go?

_GOOOO!_

"NO!"

Rennac dropped the bauble he had been fingering. It smashed onto the carpet, creating an expense of broken crystals. "No?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No…" she repeated hesitantly. She was losing a chance; she could almost feel the opportunity slipping through her fingers as she rejected his offer. She was throwing away the golden key to freedom, would another ever come again?

"You sure?" He took the rejection easily, pocketing another trinket.

"Yes," she said, but her voice was trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds. Even she herself did not believe in her own answer.

Rennac shrugged casually. "I'll come back and ask another time. Maybe you've changed your mind by then, Marisa." He paused. "Just wondering, why won't you leave?"

"Because…" She hesitated from where she was leaving through the door. "I…I…" _Because I'm in love…with Joshua…_ "Put back all those things you stole and get out. L'Arachel's waiting for you."

_I'm…in love with…Joshua…_

* * *

She walked jerkily through the corridors, not stopping once to return the greetings of the maidservants and attendants who walked past her, bowing.

The revelation of her own realization had rendered her speechless and senseless, incapable of doing anything but wandering around aimlessly through the corridors.

_I'm…in love…with Joshua…_

She now knew what L'Arachel meant when she said _"I'm in love…you know those kind of things…like this sudden revelation?"_ She understand why L'Arachel was so distressed, so perturbed and so anxious. Knowing that you loved someone who did not return your affections similarly was a deep emotional sensation.

She empathized with L'Arachel. Personally, she felt like wringing her hands and pacing around the corridors as well until she found a solution to her problems of the heart.

Her lower lips trembled. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Her whole body was shivering, not from the cold, but from the new sensation.

She felt as though she had been plunged into icy water and boiling oil at the same time. She felt as though a large hand was mercilessly kneading her heart like it was nothing but a cheap piece of dough. She felt as though the biting autumn winds from Frelia had blown all the way to Jehanna, and were tearing through her body at this very moment. She felt as though all the light had drained from her world, leaving only a shadowy darkness and her lonely self stood in the pitch darkness, with no one to call to. She felt…tired, depressed, solemn, anxious, worried, nervous, pained and haggard all at the same time.

She felt cheated, by fate, by time, by Joshua, by herself.

And Saleh…why could she not love him instead? If she had fallen in love with him instead, they could return each other's affections. They could return to their normal lives, perhaps marry and bring up a few children, live together till they were old and wizened.

_Why? Why is loving someone so painful?_

She leant heavily against the banister, ignoring the curious looks of servants and attendants who walked past. Stuffing her knuckles into her mouth, she bit down mercilessly on her own flesh.

Perhaps physical pain could cure emotional pain. Perhaps if she bit down harder on her own skin, she would feel less hurt and less lonely. Perhaps if she broke the skin of her knuckles, she could stop herself from crying.

The tears had already made their way down her cheeks, just as the blood seeped from her knuckles and the taste of iron flooded her mouth.

It was useless. Emotional pain triumphed over physical pain. The bitter lacerations on her heart easily trumped the broken skin and bleeding wounds she inflicted.

Slowly, painfully, she dragged herself on. She _had_ to. She was the Princess of Jehanna, regardless of whether she was loved or not, and she could not stay out of her room crying her heart out. It would merely cause rumours and provide gossiping material for the servants during dinnertimes.

Every step felt as though a dagger stabbed through her heart.

Clenching her teeth, she made her way slowly towards her room.

_Soon…soon…_

* * *

It was the infirmary door.

Wearily, she lifted her head and cast a sweeping glance at the door. It was oak, and there was a red cross painted on the brown wood.

Indeed, it was the infirmary.

Voices. She could hear voices coming from inside the infirmary. One was low, mellow and sweet, the voice of the healer Natasha. The other was deep and smooth, like molten chocolate.

_Joshua._

Her heart leapt as she pressed closer against the door, trying to hear what they were saying. Rennac had said that they were having their rendezvous. It was so wrong, but so tempting at the same time.

A cold flame burned steadily in her heart.

"So? What do we do about it?" It was Natasha. She sounded worried, and slightly anxious.

Silence. "We had better keep it a secret first. It would not be good for anyone if the news was leaked out," Joshua replied. There was the scraping of chairs and the shuffling of feet. "It would be a scandalous affair."

_Secret? Scandal? _Marisa hesitated, then pressed her ear against the door again. _What exactly had they done? _

"It would be expensive." Natasha sighed. There was the sound of glass against marble. She was examining the heal staves as they spoke.

"No doubt it would," Joshua agreed. He was pacing the room. "The food, accommodation, clothing…" he calculated. "But money is no issue. I believe the cost would be affordable given my current allowance."

There was a loud 'chink' made by the heal staves. "But that would be taxing on you, Joshua," Natasha hesitated. "Your current allowance isn't very much, and you have to share it with your wife."

"She hardly asks for anything," Joshua replied dismissively. "Most of her wants can be attended to by the palace attendants, so that portion of the allowance is saved and can be diverted for this cause."

_Allowance? _She narrowed her eyes. Joshua never mentioned anything about any allowance. As princess, she had always assumed that she would be given the luxury and comfort, but no money. _So there is money? Why can he never tell me anything but always keep me in the dark! _She frowned resentfully. _And then he comes to the infirmary and tells Natasha everything!_

The icy fire flared in her heart, the tips of the fire licking the walls of her heart.

"So it's possible?" Natasha sounded relieved. "Thank you, Joshua. I really don't know what I'll do without you."

_I can answer that, _Marisa thought darkly.

"Hardly. He's such a cute little baby, who can resist his little charms?" Joshua cooed as a rattle sounded. "Here Henry! Aww…he's smiling!"

Momentarily, it was as though the entire world had collapsed onto her, knocking the air out of her lungs.

There was the sound of a baby giggling.

She gasped silently, clutching the banister for support. Taking deep gulps of oxygen, she attempted to keep herself from falling. She was afraid to close her eyes, as though the moment she closed them her world and her mind would be plunged into darkness and unconciousness.

_A baby_, she thought faintly. _His child…Henry…a baby…Natasha…he…Joshua… a child…_

The world seemed to be spinning around her. Struggling to keep her balance, she took a few unsteady steps away from the door.

_Queen Isamire…her wish…fulfilled…royal heir…Joshua…Henry…Natasha…_

Her brain pounded painfully.

_A child…him and Natasha…a royal heir…_

The migraine was back with full-force.

_No…never…_

Her breath was coming up in short sharp pants.

_I…_

She took a jerky step forward. A sharp pain shot through her heart. Trembling, she lowered her gaze. She could almost see the bloody tip of the invisible arrow that had pierced her chest and torn her heart asunder.

_I love him…and…_

No. She could not face the truth. It was before her eyes. She had heard their conversation, heard the baby burbling happily.

_He betrayed me…his wife…Joshua…he…_

Her hands trembled as she leant against the wall feverishly. The forehead was burning again.

_Henry…_

It was a good name.

The world spun.

Swiftly, without thinking, she ran. There was nothing left for her here except to run from the infirmary, run away from the secret she had just heard, pretend that nothing happened.

_Nothing happened…I didn't hear anything…_

The blood pounded in her head agonizingly.

_Henry…_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**As you can see, children, eavesdropping does not pay.**

**WTS, lol that is not working out. Yeah, as I said, I lost my planner, so I am like currently forsaken by fate. I'm trying to churn out the story from sheer memory alone. Yeah, but the details are crushing me. I think I'm already starting to forget some of my charcters. Damn.**

**MOAR drama.**

**MOAR sugar.**

**Yes, on sugar high.**

**Toodles!**

**~ snowylavendermist**


	17. Shackles of Health

**Shackles of Health**

_Health? In one's hectic lives, health is almost never of anyone's concern. And one almost NEVER takes care of one's health until it is too late._

_But health is important. Without health, what can we do with our lives?_

* * *

"Princess Marisa!" The voice sounded faraway, distant. She lifted her head gingerly. "Your highness!"

It was one of the attendants, wearing the standard black robes. She sounded worried, and rather frantic.

"Your highness!" The attendant walked up to her, relieved, and bowed. "There are visitors for your highness, at the Hall of Serenity. Would you like to receive them?"

"Visitors?" The idea crossed her mind vaguely. Could it be Saleh again? Did he come with Gerik or Ewan or Tethys?

The attendant nodded. "Two visitors for your highness are waiting at the hall, a gentleman and a lady."

It was likely to be Gerik and Tethys. If it had been L'Arachel again the attendant would have been even more harried.

"I'll be there," she acquiesced. "Serve the tea."

The attendant bowed and walked away.

Very slowly, she sighed. She was in no mood to receive anybody, but that was not what she could do as the princess, neither was this what she could do as a friend. Reluctantly, she picked herself up from where she had been sitting by the cherry tree, looking at the yellow and brown leaves falling from the branches.

Unhurriedly, she crossed the yard and walked through the corridors, dimly lit by lanterns. Without any hesitation, she pushed open the door.

_Smile, Marisa. Smile. _

* * *

"Marisa!" Gerik and Tethys rose simultaneously, their faces lighting up in joy to see her.

Tethys approached her and embraced her warmly. "Marisa, it's been so many long months!" She patted her back. "We heard about your father's decease from Saleh. Are you alright?"

She nodded and gave a faint smile.

"We also heard about your persistent fever," Gerik added. "You feeling better? Yes? Good. Saleh was worrying his pants off. So were we."

"Gerik!" Tethys scolded disapprovingly.

Gerik grinned. "Sorry. Ingrained language."

_They are…still exactly the same…_she mused. Gerik was still carefree and blunt, with a crude tongue but gentle intentions; Tethys still possessed the willowy grace and charm, and her voice was still gentle and soothing. _Did only Saleh and I change amongst all of them?_

"Oh, look at you!" Tethys pinched her cheeks gently. "You're so thin! Are they feeding you well here? You're practically skin and bones! Did the illness take a lot out of you?"

She hesitated, then gestured to the couch. "I'm fine now. I think I'll need a bit of time to regain my lost weight."

"You look very pale, like Saleh," Gerik frowned. "Where's that playboy husband of yours! I'm going to give him a piece of my mind for mistreating you like this!"

"No!" Marisa restrained him. "Joshua's busy." _Flirting with Natasha. _"And it's not his fault." _I'm blatantly lying through my teeth without even blushing. I must have become an accomplished liar._

Gerik and Tethys looked uncertainly at each other before grudgingly accepting her explanation.

"You see, Marisa, today we didn't come just to visit you," Tethys began. "We're here to advise you."

She raised an eyebrow tentatively. _Advise me?_

"We think you should run away, Marisa." Gerik had always been the one to mince words and place them out raw, uncovered and undisguised. Blasé was probably his middle name. "This palace isn't good for your health; I can smell the danger and suspicion in the air, thick like peanut butter. It's not safe."

"We think you should go with Saleh, Marisa," Tethys advised gently. "That man has been in love with you from the time he first knew you, and it will break his heart to know that you are suffering here."

"He often sneaks here to visit you whenever he has time off missions," Gerik said heavily. "That's why he always looks so tired. He has been spending his sleeping time pining over you and coming here to see how you are faring."

"He didn't come today?" she asked.

Tethys shook her head. "He has been bogged down by work recently. The last few missions were exceptionally difficult, and we messed up some areas. Saleh has been running all around day and night trying to cover our tracks."

"If you could return to him, Marisa," Gerik said earnestly. "I haven't a doubt that Saleh will be much healthier and happier than he is now."

"I can't," she replied regretfully. _I don't love him…at all…I love Joshua…but Joshua doesn't love me…it's all in this elaborate tangle of love triangles and cycles that I can't even keep track of the web…. _"Joshua has the oathpaper that restricts my freedom."

Gerik grunted. "But now that your father has passed away, he has no more leverage on you. You can disappear away from him and he'll never be able to do anything to get back at you."

_But…if I leave…I won't be able to see Joshua again right? Is that a good thing? Or is it a bad idea? I…I don't know what I want. Everything's so confusing…it's starting to eat into me…_

"I don't know," she sighed. "I promised him that I would stay until he is crowned, and then I may do as I deem fit."

"Until he is crowned!" Tethys cried indignantly. "Marisa, he's really demanding too much of you! You should go! There's nothing, absolutely nothing that you can do for this man! He's selfish through and through!"

"He took care of me while I was ill," she said stubbornly.

Both pairs of eyes widened and stared at her.

"Marisa!" Gerik cried. "You aren't…still ill with fever are you?" He reached across the table and felt her forehead. "Nope…feels normal to me…"

"You're in love with him?" Tethys asked incredulously.

"No!" Her denial came a little too fast. Tethys looked at her suspiciously. "I just…thought that it would be right to uphold my end of the bargain since he already upheld father's." She paused. "Besides, with the oathpaper in his hand, he technically can demand that I return to his side and live with him forever as his wife. The legal bindings recognize us as a married couple, and…if I leave with Saleh…it'll just shackle him too…" She trailed off.

There was a pregnant silence.

"She's right," Gerik broke the silence. "That man won't let her off."

"Not after he paid so much money to get her in the first place," Tethys agreed. "Not to mention he's the prince and our future king."

"He's a jerk," Gerik breathed heavily. "A utter jerk through and through." He slammed his fist against the table. "I feel so useless, Marisa. I can't get you out in spite of my abilities."

"Gerik…" Tethys placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Where there's a will, there's a way. I'm sure we'll be able to rescue Marisa someday. Have faith."

"Tethys…" Gerik groaned, holding her hand in his. "I wonder what I'll ever do without you…"

Marisa turned her head away from the sweet scene before her. Knowing that her own happiness would forever be beyond her grasp, it was nauseating and depressing for her to look at others' blatant happiness at finding romance and comfort.

_I feel…as though someone has just stabbed my heart with a dagger…and twisted the handle brutally…so that all my lifeblood are currently draining out of me…_She closed her eyes briefly, trembling from agony at the emotional pain wrecking through her. _I…need to go. I really need to go…I don't think I'll last much longer here anymore…I…_

Abruptly, she stood up, slightly dizzy from the sudden gush of blood from her head after sitting too long. "Gerik, Tethys, I hope to see you again soon." She forced a smile onto her face.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. My heart says. _

"I'll see you some other time."

Without waiting for their goodbyes, she rushed out of the hall and tore through the corridors.

* * *

"Princess!" An oily voice halted her. "Your highness!"

The unpleasant face of Prime Minister Alexander came into her view. He stopped right before her, blocking her from running away. "It is nice to see you so robust and healthy again after such a long period of illness." The man had no sense of shame. She was showing every sign of unwillingness to converse with him and yet he was latching onto her like an annoying tsetse fly. "Would your highness like to join me for a cup of tea?"

No," she replied bluntly, in the coldest tone she could manage. The last thing she needed was something to intensify her headache.

He did not appear offended at her sharpness. If anything, he looked pleased with himself. "Ah…your highness…your refusal shakes the very foundations of my heart…"

_Did he even have one? _She thought cruelly.

"But your highness, due to the gravity of the issue, I _must_ ask your highness to divert some of her time to sitting with me for tea," Sir Alexander insisted. His jaw was tightly clenched, and a vein throbbed dangerously in his temple. The consequences of refusing him again appeared to be dire.

"Hey you! Midget!" He turned around and hailed a scampering young servant. "Prepare tea for the princess and I at the Hall of Compassion!" He turned to her and changed his tone from the scathing voice to the oily disguised one that made her skin crawl in apprehension and disgust. "This way your highness."

They walked through the corridors silently and entered the hall. Closing the door, he sat himself on the armchair and began. "As you know, your highness, I have engaged the services of Belle as your servant. How is she faring? Ah? She is to your highness' tastes after all! Indeed, that is excellent! We will never lose sleep and hair over your highness' safety again." He took a small sip of the tea. "However, it is almost certain that the safety of Jehanna cannot be protected by employing similar methods. Jehanna is too big, too vast, the population not evenly distributed…amongst other things…this makes the…how do I put it…defense a little more compromised than other countries. Thus it would be beneficial if we come up with a little plan, just one of my little suggestions that your highness can _feel free_ to reject if you wish…"

"Sir Alexander," she interrupted. "As I have said the previous time, brevity is key."

"Ahh yes, as your highness wishes." Every bit of oiliness continued, oozing from his speech in copious quantities. "Your highness, I understand that you are…" He leant in closer and lowered his voice. "On intimate terms with a prominent young man of Carcino?"

She leant back, away from him in disgust. "I do not think intimate is the appropriate adjective to apply in this case."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow almost mockingly. "Very well then, your highness, may I then suggest the word 'friendly' to better suit your highness' palate? However, the crux of the issue is obviously not about the wording of the premises. The central idea is for your highness to exploit the relationships you have forged with the Carcino young man to ensure the supply of necessities to Jehanna in case of war."

"That's impossible," she snapped. "Carcino is a mercantile, not involved in politics in any form. What made you think that he'll help?"

"It is impossible if your highness remains steadfast in your opinions," he explained with a blood-curdling smile. "However, this young gentleman apparently has been quite taken by your highness' charms. If your highness would agree with perhaps a sultry smile and a flash of your dainty ankles, he would comply with the utmost willingness. After all, he was the one who first suggested _elopement_."

She shot him a sharp look, thunderstruck. _How did he know?_ The cogs in her brain whirred speedily, trying to figure out. Sir Alexander's words carried serious threat and it was blatant that his purpose was not to implore her to ask Carcino for diplomatic trading, but to warn her of his power and knowledge, which had the potential to ruin her.

_How much exactly did he know? _She narrowed her eyes at the large man smiling opposite her. Behind that odious face and that wily smile was a cunning mind with all sorts of information and knowledge for facilitating his devious schemes. She had little idea how he found out about Rennac's relationship with her and his proposal to her, but she understood that if the news was leaked out, it would have devastating consequences on the reputation of the Jehannan royal family and on her.

"What do you want?" she snarled.

He threw his head back and laughed sharply, short barks of glee. "Convince Queen Ismaire to release the Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stone."

"Why?" Blackmail was an ugly word. Being part of a blackmail scheme was disgraceful. But being the victim blackmailed was the worst. It showed foolishness, idiocy and a lack of control of one's own affairs.

"Is it not obvious that it would help Jehanna? It would save all our sorry lives and you ask why? I am amused, princess," he said derisively. "Well, your reputation or my offer?"

_Blackmail. _She could feel her lips curling into a sneer as she weighed her options. His offer was dubious; it was not as simple as he put it to be. She was not dealing with a normal human; the man was a viper in disguise, a servant of the devil himself.

"No," she scoffed. She narrowed her eyes as he slammed the teacup back onto the table in obvious fury. Their last meeting had ended with him having the upper hand. This time she would prove to him who was the real boss. "You are a clever man, Sir Alexander. You know I have nothing to lose. If you are really as informed as you believe you are, you know me. I don't fear for myself. I can easily escape the clutches of your smearing." She looked condescendingly as his expression shifted from fury to one of hatred and rage. "You, on the other hand, may not be so lucky. Queen Ismaire has a excellent memory, and Joshua certainly won't appreciate smearing the royal name, or my name."

He was silently bubbling with barely controlled anger. Evidently, he had tried to blackmail with his knowledge, tried to scare her into submission, but his plan backfired. He was the one who was cornered, who had to watch his step, who was needed to bend his back and bow down to the victor.

"You won this round, princess," he said softly but menacingly. "But don't think this is over. You are an interesting case of a princess, and do toe the line. Because if you step over the line, be sure there'll be someone behind to push you over the line." With one last glare, he swept out of the door.

_You have to be careful from now on, _she warned herself silently. _He won't let you off for today's humiliation and rejection. The man is the devil reincarnated. He probably has a few other aces up his sleeve. _She rubbed her temples. _Why in the world does Queen Ismaire trust this devil's advocate as the prime minister to manage Jehanna? He obviously has a few ulterior motives._

* * *

Her head hurt from verbally sparring with Sir Alexander and trying to shoot down his contentions. She had never been good at sorting out arguments and refuting other's points, although her intellect certainly was unquestionably higher than normal. It drained her both mentally and physically.

As such, when she reached her room, the first thing she did was to summon Belle for a cup of tea and relaxed onto the sofa. Rubbing her temples wearily, she bent over to pick up the book she had left on the coffee table the day before.

The book was there, exactly where she had placed it. But beside the book there was now a box she had never laid her eyes on before.

Curiously, she picked up the foreign object. It was considerably small, perhaps six inches by ten inches, but when she shook it, there was the rustling of paper. It was, thankfully, not gaudy, but neither was it overly plain. It was covered with decoupages of pieces of ivory, cream and white marbled paper, with a tasteful lace border.

Gingerly, she lifted the lid, afraid of damaging the treasures the box contained.

Treaties? Inheritance wills? Official documents? The _oathpaper? _

Eagerly, she peered into the box.

Letters. It contained stacks of letters, all of them written painstakingly by hand but not enclosed in an envelope or stamped. Some of them were yellow, and crumbling at the edges, the ink fading into the paper. Some were bound by a ribbon, tied neatly in a stack. However, the top few were white, and the handwriting still legible on the loose sheets of paper.

She frowned. Had she found Joshua's correspondence with L'Arachel? It would certainly be interesting to read about his complaining and his conversation with the egoistical and self-absorbed princess.

She folded the topmost letter and scanned the sentences.

_Did I ever tell you that I can never love you enough? Every moment, I'm thinking of you. When I seat at the dinner table, I can't help but find my mind slipping from dinner conversation with Mother and Marisa back to you. How do you find so much to entrance me with? I have yet to meet someone, old or young, gentleman or lady, well-bred or lowly-born, who has such a deep insight of social issues._

_The suggestions that you gave me yesterday made a lot of sense. I have suggested them to Mother, and she approved of them. I didn't dare tell her that it was your ideas, for fear that Mother might glimpse our relationship, or that Marisa might suspect. She isn't dumb; for a street-smart person without copious amounts of education, her deductive and inductive skills do astound me sometimes. I fear she might discover our relationship sooner or later._

_Let's worry about these problems when they surface. For the moment, I am content enjoying your company. I'll never forget those lovely afternoons spent with you in the infirmary, stealing forbidden kisses from your sweet lips. You advised me not to write after my marriage, but you know that I can't bring myself to stop our correspondence. _

_However, one question has been tormenting me every night. Why did you reject my proposal? If you had accepted, I would be happily married to you. You would be my princess, while I would be your Prince Charming. Together, we can rule Jehanna with Mother as a pair of the wisest rulers ever witnessed. Don't you love me? Do I not love you enough?_

_Now, I am stuck being married to Marisa. She's exceptionally charming, indeed, but her beauty cannot compare to yours, or even L'Arachel's. She has none of your ethereal grace, or L'Arachel's sultry pout. She's as frigid as a glacial, unfortunately. She remains expressionless throughout most of the day, engaging in past-times beside the cherry trees and meeting several of her friends occasionally. Mother seems to be taken in by her, though. Marisa doesn't like me, though. So don't worry, my heart is completely only for you. After I am crowned, I'll divorce her, which will likely bring great joy to both parties. Then we can be together, even if you refuse to marry me. Wait for me, and perhaps one day we can stand together as King Joshua and Queen Natasha._

_Love, Joshua _

_PS. It feels so weird being married. I'm still not used to it, even though it has been two days already._

The letter slipped from her hands.

The truth was undeniably in front of her eyes.

Her hands trembled uncontrollably.

Shakily, she stood and walked mechanically towards the window, peering out at the yard.

There it was, the cherry tree.

Her mind was blank, black, white, sweet, sour, bitter, salty, spicy.

How could her mind taste of something?

What was in her mind again?

The cherry tree seemed to beckon to her, the steadfast beacon of solidness in a life that seemed to be made of vapours.

The vapours that were currently evaporating, leaving nothingness.

Her lower lip trembled, as did the rest of her.

She felt cold, as though she was standing in snow without adequate fur clothing.

Her heart pounded nervously.

Every breath was laboured and painful.

The leaves fell steadily from the cherry tree, carpeting the yard brown.

Was she worth the title of princess?

She swallowed.

Her throat burnt.

Her lungs felt punctured.

Her heart clenched.

Her legs cramped.

Her windpipe tightened.

Her senses dulled.

"Princess?" Belle.

She snapped back into reality, the harsh truth.

Her mind cleared. Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

A strange burning lump rose from the depth of her lungs, inching up her windpipe painfully.

She gave a harsh cry as the lump moved into her mouth.

It tasted scathingly of iron and salt.

She watched wearily as the fresh red blood spewed from her mouth, splattering onto the glass of the window.

The reality…hurt.

The tears scorched her eyes, but she did not even have the capability to wipe them away with her hand anymore. She was frozen. No, she was falling.

With a heavy thump, she collapsed onto the carpet. With the last vestiges of her consciousness, she looked at Belle bent over her form, screaming her title over and over again.

Was she ever worth that title?

The heartbeat was slowly down. She could feel it, hear it.

Her breathing slowed too.

Would it eventually stop?

Would it be best for everyone for it to stop?

In reality would it stop?

In reality was it there in the first place?

Her mind shut itself.

Her senses shut themselves.

Her heart prepared to shut itself.

Her lungs prepared to shut themselves.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Reality hurt.

More than the lifeblood pouring out of her mouth.

Red miasma, red as her blood itself, swarmed before her eyes.

A cold tear slid slowly down her cheek as she gave herself freely to the overwhelming darkness.

Reality…hurt.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Author has no notes. **

**Author is sick herself. **

**Author is busy moping over her own life.**

**Author shall post soon.**

**Author going to eat canned tuna fish.**

**Author says bye.**


	18. Shackles of Disorientation

**Shackles of Disorientation**

_Confusion...disorientation...dizziness...those are all the first forms of awareness after a period of black out. The mind stopped functioning just enough for the non-essential bodily functions to halt, leaving perhaps only the heartbeat and the slow exchange of gases._

_As such, when awakened, one usually feels very ill and very bewildered. There is a hollow feeling in the heart, and there seems to be a hole that cannot be plugged somewhere in the depth of one's mind. One is weak, but one is not rendered a fool. Memories will slowly come back, bit by bit, to bring forth the greatest agony yet, even greater than the shock of receiving the fateful news in the first place._

* * *

Her first awareness was the smell and acrid taste of iron, followed by the bitter taste of dryness and salt, lingering pervasively on her tongue.

Slowly, as though afraid of hurting herself, she opened her eyes by a crack.

She was staring at a ceiling of a room. She recognized the mosaic pattern of her room.

_Am I…dead? _She wondered vaguely. _Oh. _If she recognized her room then she could hardly be dead. So she was still alive. _Great._

"Princess Marisa!" Belle's head appeared in her range of vision. _Hmm…her features are blurred…or is it me?_ "Your highness! You're awake!"

Belle, the poor girl, must have been frightened out of her wits by her sudden collapse. Beads of cold sweat were rolling off Belle's forehead, and her face was pasty white from fear, shock and alarm.

She attempted to prop herself up from where she lay on the carpet. "Oww…" she moaned, massaging her head and letting herself flop down onto the carpet. Her head must have hit the floor with some force, for it now felt as though there was a sledgehammer crushing her skull into pieces from the inside.

"How long was I out?" She asked, rubbing the back of her head where it hurt the most.

Belle swallowed fearfully. "Fi-five minutes…"

Cursing softly, she rose to her feet, stopping to catch her breath.

"Your highness!" Belle exclaimed in alarm. "You can't be thinking of walking around in your condition."

_The poor girl seems more nervous of my condition than I…_she pondered in dark amusement. Her gaze fell on the letter that had fallen on the floor.

Very slowly, she bent down and carefully picked up the piece of parchment. She perused the letter again, without emotion or expression, and replaced it silently in the box. Deftly, she closed the box and placed it beside the book on the coffee table, exactly where she had found it.

Gently, she closed her eyes.

_I…can't run away anymore…the truth is before my eyes…why? Why do I love him? Why must it be him?_

She nodded to no one in particular, eyes still closed tightly.

_But of course, I was the fool who fell for him. Fool indeed. Rennac warned me; Saleh cautioned me; the clerics indirectly told me not to fall for him…but I…after all this time, after all these warnings from all those clear-headed individuals around me…I still made the mistake_

_I still fell in love with him…_

Lifting her hand, she wiped away the tearstain on her cheek, the singular track of the cold tear she had shed as she collapsed.

_Why…why must love be so painful?_

_Why can't it have been Saleh?_

_Why must it be someone who doesn't love me back?_

_Why must it be unrequited?_

_Why must it be Joshua?_

"I am a fool…" she mumbled.

"Princess?" Belle asked worriedly.

_Oh right,_ she smiled humourlessly. _Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. She must think I'm going mad. Or am I already mad? _"Belle, I'm fine. Run along to your other duties. I think I need some fresh air."

Belle was reluctant, but nodded all the same. "Your highness, what about this?" She gestured to the box.

She cast a despairing glance at the box. It was the testimony of Joshua and Natasha's long-lasting love, it was the evidence of his infidelity and it probably contained the birth certificate of their son Henry. What to do with the box…that was a good question indeed…

Personally, she would have wanted to rip the box apart, tear up all the letters and burn all the parchment to ashes. Then, she could wholeheartedly pretend that Joshua still loved her, that her love was not unrequited, that Joshua and Natasha had not anything improper between them.

But the truth always was, in reality, she could fool herself. She could delude her mind, her heart and her soul. But reality would never be deluded by anyone or anything. What had happened was history, and what was happening was the present. There was nothing, _nothing_ that she could attempt to erase the love Joshua harboured for Natasha, or try to shift Joshua's affections to herself instead.

She could not compare. There was basis for comparison, but it was like comparing rough cotton with finely spun silk dyed in the colours of sunset. Natasha was regal, graceful, dignified and a born princess. She possessed the charm and all the necessary qualities to be a queen that Jehanna could be proud of.

And _she_? A piece of rough cotton by nature and by birth, she was merely a lowly street urchin who had once scraped a living by petty theft and pilfering. She was clumsy, rough, brash and not deserving of a place in the royal family.

A bitter snigger twisted her features and her heart. _Of course_ she had been a good instrument for Joshua's path to success. Her father had been an unfortunate gambler with a mountain of debts, and she herself was a foolish unwise young urchin off the streets who would have made a pretty wife. Pretty, and temporary.

How did she ever dream that one day, Joshua might truly accept her as his queen? It was impossible, irrational and illusory. Why had she ever harboured those hopes in the first place? For them to be brutally crushed in the end? Just like how her heart had been brutally crushed into pieces?

Oh yes, her heart did feel as though it was bleeding. The letter…the baby Henry…everything he had ever done seemed to pierce her heart further, create more gaping holes in her already lacerated heart.

And Saleh would come, with a healing salve in his hand, kind words on his lips. She should have been grateful for his care, but did he know he always carried the wrong healing salve. It never did heal her, because he was not the one.

And no matter what they did, that fact would never change.

She was destined to love Joshua.

She was destined to not love Saleh.

Was she destined to lose them both?

She recalled the scene of Gerik and Tethys, and closed her eyes as a wince escaped her lips. Her heart throbbed. Her fists clenched tightly, she leant against the banister on the corridor, not caring about the dustiness of the corner.

She would give anything, _anything_, to escape from the pain.

Gritting her teeth, she willed herself not to think about her troubles and just walk on.

_Walk, Marisa, walk. May it balm your nerves._

* * *

The guards saluted alertly as she approached, but even in her state of debilitated health she could smell the nervousness pouring off them in waves. One of them had a bright sheen of sweat on his forehead, although it was approaching the end of autumn and weather was turning colder than ever.

"Your highness!" They leapt to attention, a little stiffer than normal. The one who was sweating profusely inched closer to the entrance of the dungeon. His comrades followed his example and blocked the door to the dungeon.

Eyes narrowed, she took a step forward, towards the dungeon entrance.

The guards swallowed nervously. One of them even shivered. However, they stood as impassively as ever at the door, forming a solid impervious wall, a human barrier preventing her from entering the dungeon.

"Move aside," she ordered. There was something fishy about the guards' behaviour, and she was going to find exactly was it that triggered this behaviour.

The guards looked at one another nervously, then shook their heads together as a group.

"You're going to defy my orders?" She raised an eyebrow. _Now, what did the manual say about the royal hierarchy again? Something about the ability to execute a minor for defying orders of the queen, prince or any member of the royal family…hmm…isn't that me? Might as well…_

She openly unsheathed her shamshir. "Well?" She tapped her feet impatiently. "Move aside!"

Most of the guards scampered to the sides, but one still stood stoically at the entrance. A bright sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and he trembled slightly as she lifted her shamshir.

She held the blade to the throat of one of those who had scampered to the side. "Why did you block the door just now?" she asked soft but menacing enough for the guard to hear the threat in her words.

The guard slipped from her grip and landed on the ground on his shaking knees, prostrating himself flat on the ground. "Your highness." The poor man was trembling all over.

_Coward._

"Prime Minister Alexander told us to prevent you from entering," he stuttered, still flat on the ground. "Please, your highness, he'll chop off our hands if you entered."

"All the more I'm going to enter," she sheathed her shamshir and looked at them indifferently. "The Prime Minister has no power to handicap his guards. I will ensure your safety for divulging this piece of information. If you would stand aside, I could even arrange for a promotion."

The guards were trembling all over and they lay themselves at her feet. "Thank you, your highness."

She disliked people dropping to the ground like cabbages every time she bestowed something upon them. It made her feel too royal, and she was never royalty, and would never be part of royalty.

She disliked spineless people even more, detested them in fact. These were the ones who would turn traitor at the first sign of danger, running away with their tail between their legs in a bid to escape to safety.

_Coward._

The lone guard still stood barring the entrance.

"I'm the Prime Minister's man through and through," he announced proudly. "I obey the Prime Minister and no one else."

_Admirable courage and loyalty. Too bad it's in the wrong place and the wrong person._

"Is there any way to switch your allegiance?" she questioned, fingering her shamshir.

The guard's eyes flicked nervously to her shamshir, which was flitting in her hands, then back to her. "No," he replied steadily, although there was a slight tremour in his voice. "The Prime Minister is my sole master."

The other guards, who had cleared the way, shook their heads at their comrade's foolishness and blindness. Everyone knew that befriending the princess was better than accompanying the Prime Minister! This man must have been mad to refuse the princess' offer!

She nodded. "Very well."

Quick as lightning, she reached out and twisted his arms behind him. Stretching out her leg, she swept him off his two feet and watched as he landed on his knees before her, arms still pinned behind him.

_A man of courage, bravery and resilience deserved to live, and prosper._

"You are promoted," she whispered. "To the rank of captain. The deployment administrators will be informed, and you will be told of your new post." She straightened, leaving the guard on the floor, who wore a confounded and shocked expression. "Your courage is impressive, so is your loyalty. But your reflexes and fighting skills are abominable. So is your choice of allegiance."

Decisively, she stepped over the threshold and entered the dungeon.

The first thing she felt was the cold air hitting her face at full force. Then she was aware of the dim lighting coming from the end of the dungeon. When her senses sharpened, she could hear the crack of a whip.

_Sir Alexander…_she snarled. The man's presence tinged the air with a dreadful and repugnant oiliness and resentment.

"Come on." She could discern the oily voice, goading. "Tell us something more about yourself. Maybe, tell us how much you used to make selling information of Jehanna?"

There was another crack of the whip.

She could see Stefan, black robes torn, exposed flesh bloody and cut with numerous lashes across his back from the heavy leather horsewhip that was currently in the Prime Minister's pudgy hands.

"Sir Alexander, whatever the hell are you doing?" she said coldly.

The large man turned around, green locks bouncing. He still clutched the offending horsewhip, which was dripping with blood. There were bloodstains on his waistcoat, and his hands were covered in blood. His expression was one of horror, disgust, annoyance and loathing.

With barely concealed irritation, he made a quick bow. "Princess Marisa, why _the hell_ may I ask are you doing here?" he asked curtly, mocking her words.

She coloured. "I heard some…suspicious noises from the outside and entered to investigate, is that not allowed, Sir Alexander?"

Stefan, hearing her voice, lifted his head wearily. His shaggy brown hair was coated with dirt, and straw stood up between strands of his hair. Even his face was covered with an unpleasant array of bruises. He opened his chapped lips, as though wanting to call for her help, but clamped his mouth tightly again and looked down.

"Of course it is, Princess," Sir Alexander laughed. "There is not a single place that the princess is not allow to enter in the palace. But the dungeons are filthy, and unbefitting of your highness' status. May I suggest your highness go and enjoy a lovely cup of tea with buttered scones in the garden? I heard the chef mentioning that those were today's desserts."

"I don't suppose I could indulge in my scones knowing that beneath my feet someone is being brutally murdered with a horsewhip, can I?" She replied in a tone that paralleled his. "After all, the sounds are certainly unpleasant. Why not we leave this aside and enjoy tea together, Prime Minister?"

"I would love to, your highness, to dine with an exquisite lady as yourself," Sir Alexander bantered. "However, this particular beast needs to be taught a lesson for harming your highness, and for not replying when asked, right brute?"

Stefan made no sound, merely breathed heavily, most likely preparing himself for the whipping later on.

As though to taunt him, Sir Alexander raised the whip again, preparing to bring it down on Stefan's back.

The whip crackled through the air with deadly speed.

There was a sound of leather breaking.

"I see no brute in this dungeon except you, minister." She held on to the broken leather strap of the whip in one hand, her shamshir in the other. "I advise you to stop this activity for the sake of your own office."

"You would threaten me?" Sir Alexander gritted his teeth. "Are you not afraid of what I can do to your reputation? I'll tear it asunder, trample it beneath my feet, feed it to my fireplace, drag it through the dirt, make it so soiled and ravaged that no amount of titles and authority can save you from being known as a scarlet woman." He spat the last word in her face.

Without hesitation, she cracked the whip across his face.

Sir Alexander touched the cut on his cheek in wide-eyed and furious disbelief. He stared at the blood on his fingers, then at the fresh blood on the leather of the broken horsewhip. "You dare?" he seethed. "You dare?"

"I dare." She sneered.

Slowly, he backed away, still nursing his wound. "I'll make you pay for this. I'll make you pay for this so many times over that you'll wish you had never been born!"

Spitting on the ground, he threw her a murderous look before storming out of the dungeon.

_That's it, _she told herself in resignation. _You're doomed._

"Stefan." She cut the ropes that tied up his hands and feet. "Did he hurt you badly?"

_That was a redundant question, you fool. Obviously that Alexander did not believe in mercy. Look at the sheer number and wounds!_

Breathing heavily, Stefan lifted his head. "Thank you," he croaked, closing his eyes tightly as a spasm of pain tore through him. "You risked a lot to save me."

She shrugged. "Consider yourself lucky that I am an anomaly amongst nobles." _I can't believe I'm freaking doing this. I just traded my reputation for the life of a political criminal who tried to kill me. What the heck. I must still be ill. Or did that knock on the head just now knock out a few brain cells?_

"He's dangerous."

She rolled her eyes as she helped him back to the cell. "Like I don't know."

He smirked wearily. "Just in case."

Rolling her eyes again, she called for the guard, recently promoted to captain. He was still pale and in a state of shock when he walked jerkily over. "I want bandages and surgical spirit. And a new set of clothing."

"Water…" Stefan moaned.

"And water," she added.

The guard nodded and walked away briskly, like a programmed robot.

_Is it really that surprising that I promoted him for being loyal? _She sighed. _People…_

"He's going to take revenge," Stefan said.

_Sir Alexander? Yeah, probably. _"Worry about yourself first," she retorted.

"That man was being serious."

"I know," she frowned, turning away from him. _Urgh, can he stop reminding of the price I have to pay for saving him? Does he really want me to leave him alone or invite Sir Alexander over to continue the torture session?_ "I don't think he will come back and bother you again though." She took the items she wanted from the guard, who had returned. "Thank you."

The guard nodded stiffly and walked off again.

"Stay still," she commanded, treating his wounds. _Why the heck am I doing this? This is that guy who tried to kill me that day. Oh right, you want him to give you information. Make an ally. Right._

"That man is going to betray you," Stefan blurted.

"What?" She spun around to face him. "What did you say?"

He shrugged infuriatingly. "Sir Alexander."

She narrowed her eyes. Stefan was a spy from Grado. Was he telling the truth or a lie? Did he want to thank her or make use of her kindness? He mentioned Sir Alexander would betray them. 'Them' would refer to the royal family of Jehanna? Sir Alexander worked for Grado? How did Stefan know?

"How do you know?" she questioned.

He shrugged again. "I didn't say anything." He drank thirstily. "You heard nothing. _Nothing. _Am I clear?"

All of a sudden, they were enemies once more. He, a spy for Grado. She, the princess of Jehanna. Each had their interests, their loyalties, their priorities. Her magenta eyes bored into his brown ones, hunting for a flicker that might betray his intentions.

Nothing.

A mouse squeaked.

Both of them flinched at the noise. The connection was broken. They were acquaintances once more, a lady helping a wounded man in need.

"You lied to Sir Alexander," she said simply. _Come on, take the bait. Say something._

He shrugged nonchalantly again. "Really?" Such a simple answer, but it carried so many questions, opened the pandora's box of possibilities. His grin was wide and toothy, but beneath the surface, she could detect the faint trace of suspicion, sharpness, worry, anxiety and reluctance.

She sighed.

Something was brewing in the Jehannan palace, and she certainly did not like the way things were turning out.

* * *

The mirror was starting to cloud over due to the steam rising from the hot water.

Satisfied that the water was of a comfortable temperature after testing it with her finger first, she slid gently into the bathwater.

A good bath would wash away some of her worries and nagging anxieties. A good sleep in the bath would probably do her nerves some good too. It had been an exhausting day, with so much happening that she could hardly keep track of her emotions.

Her heart sank again as she recalled Henry, and the letter.

_You never were meant to be a princess, Marisa. You can't handle the pressure or the scandals. Maybe Joshua was right, Natasha should have been in this position. She'll probably never get embroiled in all these affairs and businesses with prime ministers and assassins._

Life was a joke.

_I love Joshua…_

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

_I love him…_

She closed her eyes as a heart-wrenching pain sent a shudder through her body, despite being surrounded by fragrant warm bathwater.

_Why…_

Ever so slowly, a tear slid down her cheek.

_Why must it be someone who doesn't love me…?_

Another spasm of pain tore through her.

_Why is love always unrequited? It's…not fair…_

"Time for self-medication," she muttered. She desperately needed a good sleep for her troubles and a few headache pills for her migraine. Had she hit her head that heavily this afternoon?

She groaned as she slid over to the side of the bathtub and examined the array of little bottles, all containing little pills of different colours. _The sleeping pills are light pink in colour…I think three will do the trick and get me a few hours of sleep until dinner…_she picked the light bottle off the shelf. _And the migraine pills…what did Belle say the other time? Oh, right, the little white pills with the black label._ She retrieved the bottle from the rack.

Unscrewing the cap, she popped five little pink pills into her mouth, followed by two of the white pills. She made a face as she swallowed, resenting the bitter powdery taste they left in her mouth.

Sighing in contentment, she closed her eyes and relaxed in the water.

_Things will be better…hopefully…_

_Forget everything about that Joshua, in a few months' time you'll leave him, is that understood?_

_Do I have enough courage and strength to leave his side? _

_My heart…hurts…_

_I must work up the courage to leave his side…_

_Why…does my heart hurt…so much…?_

Her eyes snapped open. Gasping, she placed a hand over her heart.

The pain was not a result of heartbreak.

She could feel the jolt of pain in her ribs every time her heart beat. And the pain was progressively growing more acute.

_What…what is happening to me?_

"Was it…the pills?" She muttered. Her tongue seemed to have been turned into stone, and she had difficulty enunciating even the simplest words.

She rolled onto her side and inched towards the rack of pills.

_The pink pills…and the white…_

Her vision swarmed before her. The world appeared to be swiftly tilting, or was it her?

Shaking her head to try and clear her vision, she made a grab for the bottles. Her breaths had turned into desperate gasps, and every gasp was like having a knife slashing her lungs.

She clenched her fists and shut her eyes tightly. Every second brought a wave of intense pain, so acute that it was nearly indescribable by human words.

_Is there any word that described extremely extreme acute pain?_

Her world started spinning rapidly again.

Shakily, she held the bottles in her hands and brought them before her eyes, hoping that the proximity would allow her to read the labels.

_Is it not my sleeping pills and headache pills? Did I…make a mistake?_

Her heart rate was speeding up. Her heart pumped abnormally, working harder than usual. The blood squeezed through her blood vessels consistently, traveling at astonishing speeds that they had never attained.

She was sitting in a bath relaxing, and her heart was clocking heart rates faster than those when she was sparring.

_How is this…even possible?_

The words were blurring before her eyes. Frowning, she took a deep breath and shook her head, ignoring the piercing pain in her lungs.

"Digi-" She narrowed her eyes, attempting to read the small print. "Digitalis." _What the heck was that? Her sleeping pills usually said 'sleeping pills' and that was all, not some obscure term that probably could only be found in an abstruse medicinal book that only Saleh would read._

She examined the other label. "Sele-"

She gasped before she could finish saying the word. Her lungs were constricting by themselves. It felt as though someone was deliberately squeezing all the air out her lungs. This was accompanied by another fierce jolt of pain from her heart as it pumped rapidly, completely out of control.

_Digitalis…and sodium selenate…what were those?_

The world was no longer swiftly tilting anymore. It had turned a misty white from the speed of its swirling. No matter how many times she attempted to blink, the white refused to clear from her eyes.

_Digitalis…sodium selenate…_

She groaned.

_Saleh…Father…Joshua…_

_Saleh…Joshua…_

_Joshua…_

_I hate you…I hate you…_

_I think…no…_

_Joshua…_

_I love you…_

_I…_

* * *

Belle was humming a sweet tune to herself while dusting the couch while she heard the breaking of glass coming from the bathroom.

"Your highness?" No response.

She tried the door.

It was locked.

Belle smiled. "Oh well, she probably doesn't want to be disturbed."

Holding the feather duster, she walked merrily away from the room. After this she still had to help the cooks in the kitchen to prepare the cutlery for dinner and lay out the tablecloth. She still had a lot to do, and she could hardly wait here all day for Princess Marisa to finish her bath.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Haha, do you know, I actually went to check out the exact colours and names and functions for the medicines...lol...it was pretty fun XD Digitalis is derived from the foxglove plant, and it is used to treat coronary (heart) diseases. It can lower heart rate, or increase heart rate. Yeah, and it is fatal to those who take it if they take it in large amounts. Sodium selenate is white, that's all I know, and it's deadly. Like really toxic. Haha, derived from ionic compound of sodium and selenium, it is usually found in powder form, but it can be compressed to form pills. It can cause acute repiratory problems when injested.**

**Haha, this chapter was pretty fun. I placed it here cos Marisa usually would be sharp enough to detect differences in the pills, but then she is ill, and when one has just recovered from a fainting attack, one is pretty much still a bit on the huh-what-just-happened side. Haha, this is from personal exp **

**Alright, hope to post next chapter soon. Probably from Joshua's POV, kinda.**

**Love~snowylavendermist (who is bubbly and cheery today cos she just slept in late, 10.35 am in the morning, cloudy + windy)**


	19. Shackles of Time

**Shackles of Time**

_Time...time is money. And we are all running out of time. Even if we have the money._

* * *

Joshua was bored. He had completed all the official duties for today, discussed the important pressing issue with Natasha (it was a secret and he was not going to divulge it), read all the tedious official documents (which included dozens of applications for positions in the royal palace) and listened to Prime Minister Alexander drone on and on about Jehanna's desperate situation and the solution of bringing out the Sacred Twins and Stone (which _of course_ was refuted by Mother again due to impracticality and national safety reasons).

He had not seen Marisa around. She was not in the garden, and neither was she in the halls receiving another one of those endless streams of friends of hers.

He had time and wanted to spar with her, and she just had to choose this moment to vapourise into thin air.

_Hmm…could she be in their room? _He smirked. _Maybe she misses me…_

He heard a clatter of footsteps, along with the shushed giggles and noisy laughter.

"Did you hear? The princess is having an affair."

_What?_

He stopped and leant forward, trying to hear better. _Did his ears just lie to him? Marisa was having an affair? Haha, happy Joker's day half a year early!_

"Yeah, I heard she's cheating on Prince Joshua." Someone collaborated.

His eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

_But that's…_

He stiffened and stopped. _An affair? Princess? Marisa? _Could he have heard wrongly again? Marisa seemed hardly the type to even be interested in romance, judging from his previous few rather disheartening attempts to warm up to her.

Several servant girls were walking across the red bridge across the goldfish pond, dressed in the classic servant garb of brown cotton robes. They could not see him yet. Hurriedly, he concealed himself behind the thick bamboo grove and eavesdropped on their conversation.

_Hopefully I'll find that I heard wrongly._

"Is she? She seems so quiet most of the time. Who said it?" One of the servant girls expressed her doubts.

_That's right, my Marisa isn't the type to cheat on me. It's just idle chatter by a few bored servant girls with a bad habit of twisting everything into rumours and scandals for their own entertainment._

"Everyone's saying it!" There were giggles.

_Everyone? That means everyone in the palace, except me, knows about me? _His eyes widened at the implications. A cold numb feeling clouded his mind. His hands suddenly felt clammy.

"So who is it?"

_Yeah, who is it? Who could Marisa possibly ever have an affair with? She knows so few males, besides those in the palace. Maybe that ruffian from Carcino…no…they were just dancing. Just strictly dancing like two diplomatic people interested in forging diplomatic ties for their countries._

There was a pause with a barely concealed snigger.

"Three?" The servant girl's voice was tinged with horror and surprise. "Three people? That's…so scandalous! And she's the princess!"

_Three? Not one, not two but three? How did she know so many people? Why…what did she do?_

His heart chilled rapidly.

"I heard that one of them is a childhood friend of hers, and he visited her recently to bring her a basket of apples or something, and they spent the night reminiscing about their love for each other. They apparently left together for an entire evening beyond the castle walls." There were several gasps. "Who knows what they did?"

_One entire night? When? Could it be the night when she came back delirious? But…that was because her father died…right? She couldn't possibly lie about her father's death…could she?_

"Was he good looking?" One of them asked before being silenced by the rest.

"Apparently he looked 'erudite'. Whatever that means. And he was said to be pretty cute with light brown curls and melting brown eyes. Do you want to hear about the others or not? Yes? Then keep quiet!" They waited in silent anticipation. "One of them is apparently this merchant's son from Carcino who is super rich, super hot and super charming!" There were collective squeals. "He has, apparently, chocolate brown hair, chocolate brown eyes and chocolaty abs too! They said that…he proposed to elope with her!"

_The Carcino merchant? Rennac? Her? Elope?_

His eyebrows knitted together into a frown.

_How was that possible? They…they barely know each other, and they only met twice in their lives. Ha, Marisa isn't the kind to elope with random merchants with gold coins in their pockets. She is above that._

In spite of his confidence in Marisa, he still felt a cold lump of foreboding in his throat.

_What if…these servants are telling the truth?_

"Really?"

"That's so illegal!"

"Yeah, illicit affair!"

"Oh and the last one, is in our palace itself!" More sniggers. "It's that prisoner in the dungeons! Stephen or something…the other day, they said the princess went in and attended to the prisoner alone by herself! And the guards said something like they heard suspicious noises coming from the cell but they didn't dare look…" There were squeals, shrill cries and screams and loads of giggles.

He paled. That _couldn't _be the truth. It just _couldn't_. Marisa wasn't one of those loose-principled women who would throw herself at anyone and everyone around her. Especially not at prisoners. She had standards, and if even he didn't meet the standards, none of those mentioned could.

Right?

He sighed in regret as he thought of the past few days. He had never seemed to be able to spend time with her, and thus, he was completely uninformed of her everyday activities and the people she saw everyday. He completely didn't know about her visits to see the prisoner, her meetings with her childhood friend and the nature of her interaction with that accursed Rennac. What she was doing was, regrettably, a complete mystery to him.

Could she really have taken advantage of his busy schedule to engage in illicit affairs with her male companions?

A flame of jealousy, already ignited by Rennac the former time, burnt bright and licked the walls of his heart.

_Rennac…that accursed escort of L'Arachel…he would dare seduce my wife? _He seethed, the jealousy in his heart fuelled further by the servants' conversations. _My wife…Marisa…she's mine and no one else can touch her…mine and mine only…And the prisoner…her childhood friend…why do they always touch things that are not theirs?_

_And Marisa. Did she really have affairs behind my back?_

He slammed his fist against the stem of the bamboo plant, sending a shower of loose yellow leaves fluttering through the grove as the leaves rustled.

_Marisa…I have to go and ask her myself._

Turning on his heel, he left swiftly, the fire burning in his eyes.

There were some stuff he wanted to clarify, and he wanted to hear the truth from her lips and her lips alone.

* * *

She was nowhere to be found. And the only place he had not checked was their room, only because it was far removed at the west wing and not located near anything else.

Hurriedly, he made his way through the corridors.

"Belle!" He spied Marisa's personal maidservant, just as she came out of the sitting room. "Is Marisa inside?"

She nodded, shifting the bed linen in her arms. "The Princess just went in to take a bath. She told me that she didn't want to be disturbed, that she wanted to sleep for awhile."

"How long had she stayed inside?" he questioned.

Belle did a mental calculation. "Approximately five minutes, your highness. Are you looking for her royal highness? Why not wait until she finishes bathing? Her highness usually takes around two hours in the bath."

_No, I need to talk to her now. I need to get to the bottom of this thing before…I may just lose it anytime and take my sword to find those scoundrels, starting with that Carcino fellow._

"I have some pressing issues that I need to discuss with her." He knocked on the bathroom door. "Marisa, open up! I need to ask you something!"

There was no response from within the bathroom.

"Marisa!" He pounded on the oaken door. Belle watched fearfully behind. "Marisa! Open the door!" He tried the doorknob, only to find it locked. "Damn!" He cursed in a fury.

_Usually, she wakes at the slightest noise. Even the sound of my walking on carpet can jolt her awake. But today…why is it that she isn't responding even when I'm yelling right at her door? Can she not hear my voice?_

Something was not right.

_I smell…danger…and death in the air. Why? There is something extremely wrong about this entire thing. It smells phony, like a false scenery set-up in a theatrical performance. _

_Marisa is never one to completely ignore me, even when she is angry with me. The feeling…the atmosphere is as thick of peanut butter…there's almost this cloud of doom hanging heavily in the air._

He glanced around the room uneasily, until his gaze landed on the box on the coffee table.

The all too familiar box that contained all the words he had so lovingly penned once upon a time.

_Oh hell._

He grabbed the box and flung open the container. Most of the contents were undisturbed, but the topmost letter had been touched, and it still contained her scent.

_She…she read this? Hell! She was never supposed to see this! This…this is completely wrong and oh god…she'll never forgive me…never…damn…_

Agitatedly, he tried to piece the situation together.

_So she read the letter…and there are rumours abound in the palace about her…the door is locked…she has been there for five minutes…she wants to take a good nap in the bathtub…she is not responding to anything…she probably took sleeping pills…_

His eyes widened in shock and horror.

_Sleeping pills! Don't tell me…she's not that foolish! She can't be!_

He tried futilely to calm himself down.

_Stay calm, she's not that foolish…she'll understand…she won't take her life…she…oh dammit!_

Rushing over to the door, nearly knocking down Belle in the process, he unsheathed his sword and broke the lock with one clean swipe. The door gave way with a heavy push, and he burst into the bathroom.

The mirror was clouded. There were pieces of glass on the ground with a scattered array of pink and white pills. The taps dripped slowly but steadily, and the bath was overflowing.

_Marisa!_

He scooped her out of the bathwater, not caring the least that he was getting his official robes soaked.

"Marisa!" He shouted, shaking her violently. "Marisa! Can you hear me? Marisa! Answer me! Dammit!"

She lay limp and lifeless in his arms, not responding to any of his calls. Her complexion was florid, but it was an unhealthy flush as though her heart had pumped all the blood to her cheeks. Her eyes were closed tightly, and he could almost not feel the breathing coming from her nose.

Quickly, he measured her pulse.

_What?_

Her heart was out of control.

_Hell, Marisa! What the heck did you do to yourself?_

Picking her up in his arms, he dashed out of the bathroom and into their bedroom, shouting for Belle to find Natasha and the healers.

_Marisa…hang in there…they will be here soon to save you…_

He felt useless just looking at her and not knowing what to do. He knew that anytime, her heart could stop racing and fall into a deadly slumber, and she would be gone forever.

_No! Marisa! You can't just leave me like this!_

The thought of her leaving him was so intense that it nearly brought him down onto his knees. Frantically, he wrapped her in the blankets, trying to keep her as warm as possible. Rubbing her hands and arms as though it would help her blood circulation, he kissed her on her damp hair, on her forehead, on her cheeks. The thought of losing her was impossible. He would never allow that to happen, not when he was alive and well and beside her.

_Come on…dammit…why aren't they here yet?_

Her ruddiness in her cheeks bloomed further, and the rest of her grew paler and colder.

_No! You can't! Marisa! You promised to stay with me until my coronation! You can' just break your promise like this!_

He cradled her in a tight embrace, pleading softly to her to cling on to her life even though she couldn't hear him. She wasn't one to give up so easily. She couldn't just leave like this. He wouldn't allow her to.

_Marisa…stay alive…please…_

Blood seeped from the corners of her mouth.

_Marisa, I promise you. I don't ever question your faithfulness to me. Dammit, they can say all they want, but I know you're true to me. Marisa, wake up! Don't let death get to you!_

Red blossoms bloomed over the white bed sheets from the blood that was draining out of her mouth.

_No! _

He could hear the footsteps and the frantic cries.

_Hang in there…Marisa…hang in there…_

The doorknob turned.

_Just a little more…_

The door opened to reveal Natasha and the healers.

_You'll be fine Marisa. _He dropped a kiss on her forehead. _Please, stay with me._

* * *

"You mean someone tampered with the bottles, Joshua?" Queen Ismaire scrutinized the large pieces of broken glass before which. Until recently, they had been two bottles containing pills.

"I suspect someone exchanged the bottles of sleeping pills for this. And they substituted the headache pills for something more deadly," Joshua said. "They took advantage of Marisa's carelessness to check the label of the bottles. It was probably someone who knew her quite well. This much I have deduced from the evidence in the bathroom, and I have not entrusted my thoughts to anyone. I fear they may harm Marisa further in her current fragile state."

"But why would anyone want to harm her, Joshua?" Queen Ismaire sighed. "Out of the three of us, I hold the most power, and she the least. Why would they target her in that case? It would scarcely make any impact on the national politics."

"That's what that has been baffling me as well, Mother," Joshua frowned. "I can't think of someone who may want to harm her, but is close enough to her. Even I don't know much about her everyday habits." He paused. "There is another possibility, however, but it is unpleasant…"

Queen Ismaire closed her eyes briefly. "Suicide."

Joshua nodded. "I was hoping it was not the latter, but now it seems as though it is more possible. There was no evidence of foul play, and Marisa…she was said to be slightly depressed by those who saw her."

"Poor child," Queen Ismaire said sympathetically. "Did you say or do anything that might have had unwittingly hurt her or something?"

His mind flickered back to the box and to the letter. The flowery language and flowing script made him wince mentally.

"No, Mother," he said finally. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Queen Ismaire nodded. "Perhaps it's the rumours that drove her to desperation. How is the quenching going on?"

"Prime Minister Alexander is attempting to quell the servants' gossip, but apparently it is spreading like wildfire."

"Do you, my dear, believe in her innocence?" Queen Ismaire asked.

He hesitated. "I don't have a doubt about her fidelity." The words came out less firm than what he wanted them to be.

She nodded. "That's good then." She went back to drinking the tea. "So how is sharing a room with your wife? Pleasant?"

"We're…pretty alright…" he replied vaguely. "It is a comfortable arrangement."

"That's good," Queen Ismaire said as she replaced the cup on the saucer and began examining the glass shards with renewed interest.

"Mother…that day after the meeting with the House of Lords," he asked hesitantly. "What exactly did you say to Marisa?"

A shadow fell over the queen's face as she stared at the steam from her hot tea. "Nothing, Joshua, it was just ladies' talk," she said finally. She smiled benignly. "I doubt it would have drove her to suicide. It was very mild and light-hearted."

Joshua nodded curtly. _I don't think I believe you this time Mother._

There were some things that were better left unsaid, even between mother and son. Even if both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**A pretty short chapter from Joshua's POV instead. Well, I can't let Marisa die of course. But..yawn...so boring. Going to update the next chapter as soon as I can, and I plan to bring in moar politics XD**

**Love ~ snowylavendermist**


	20. Shackles of Equanimity

**Shackles of Equanimity**

_Possibly no one expects that even in the deepest state of peace and calm, there would still be restrictions and such, right? _

_Indeed, there is hardly anything that cannot be done in such a state. To achieve a state of mental harmony and stability, how much effort needs to be taken? But how great the rewards are of undisturbed introspective time with yourself!_

_Yet, even in absolute peace, there are shackles. Because there is no such thing as absolute peace. It is human nature, to think about the things that bother us, that frustrate us. We may strive for equanimity, but the every equanimity itself is a shackle, for it is impossible to attain in its pure form._

* * *

When she finally opened her eyes again, the whirling yellow and brown crinkly dried leaves of autumn had been swept away already. In their places were spinning white powdery and flaky wet icy snowflakes of winter. In her absence from the world, the earth had surreptitiously changed from golden, red and brown to bare white and grey.

In those two long months, beside surviving on a strict diet of glucose drips and restore staves, she had shut herself away mentally, doing nothing except lying down on the bed in a general state of unconsciousness.

Her awakening was good news to most. Queen Ismaire was thrilled that she had woken up. Joshua fussed endlessly by her bedside, despite the fact that she was cared for by attendants every single second. Belle assisted Joshua in the fussing, and brought her continuous streams of the latest palace gossip and nutritious food that was supposed to strengthen her debilitated body. The other servants were…well…servants. They gawked at her and pointed and gossiped until they were shooed away by Belle.

But she did have the luxury of personal time when everyone else was busy doing their other tasks and chores. She was also mostly alone in the dead of the night, when nothing except the owls was still awake.

It was a little uncomfortable to sleep with a roaring fire crackling in the fireplace (too noisy and too warm), an assortment of heal staves surrounding the bed in a disorderly fashion in case of emergencies (too bright since they reflected light from the fire) and two dozen needles stuck in random areas of her body (this one was obvious, the pain was brutal), some of which were for the glucose drip, others of which were to measure her blood pressure, heartbeat rate, breathing capacity and so on.

So she was left was plenty of time by herself, lying awake on the bed with her eyes closed tightly to delude the healers into thinking that their medicines were working their magic.

But there was not much anyone could do when he or she was confined to a bed in a stiff position with his or her eyes shut tightly together.

Eyelids were, in general, not very interesting body parts to examine.

And thus, she was reduced to thinking; lots and lots of deep insightful thinking that eventually amounted to nothing beside memories and emptiness.

If there was one take-away she had, it was that finally, she realized what she was.

A pawn.

Like the small little insignificant chess piece on the chessboard.

A _pawn._

In chess, the king was vital, and the king in this case was Queen Ismaire. Oh, the _irony_.

The queen, a useful piece to assist the king, was Prince Joshua. _He makes a wonderful queen,_ she thought dryly.

The bishops' main duty was to protect the king and queen, and sacrifice themselves, if necessary, to secure valuable positions. Those would be the prime minister and the house of ministers. As much as she would have liked to exclude him, Sir Alexander was the bishop of the Jehannan royal family.

_And a very secure bishop he would make, I'm sure, _she thought with much distaste. _Queen Ismaire's prophetic foresight is certainly impeccable. _

And then it would be the knights, the cannons. Those were the infantry units and cavalry. Jehanna possessed a small cavalry, with few riding units, many of which were mercenaries from Renais. Most of their army was infantry, skilled swordmasters and sages honed at their craft. There were a few archers, mostly foreign talents imported from Frelia, and a few pegasus knights here and there. Druids were scarce, and bishops were present in infinitesimal quantities, too small to even be considered for battle.

But still, these units would be ones to defend the country, protect the royal family and save the crown. They had a purpose, and an important at that. They would be honoured in the event of their death, and their families compensated.

But her?

She chuckled darkly.

She was a _pawn_.

Even when she herself said the word, she enunciated it with scorn and haughtiness.

A _pawn_ was the most insignificant member of all on the board. It was meant to be sacrificed. Its sole purpose was to provide a front-line defense that would surely crumble under the enemies' attack.

They were meant to be dead.

They were meant to be thrown away after use.

They were meant to be discarded.

_So am I._

And she was a pawn, a lowly little pawn in their grand scheme of things. She had no direction of where she was heading, and she had little clue of her bleak future. Her moves were going to be planned out by the puppeteers pulling the strings, and they would dictate the course of her fate.

She was Queen Ismaire's pawn. She was the queen's tool for an heir for the crown of Jehanna. She would produce that royal child that would secure the throne of Jehanna and the hearts of the people.

She was Joshua's pawn. Joshua had blatantly told her from the start that their relationship was one of making use of each other. That was cold hard truth. She was her tool to reach and secure the throne. She was his cover that he was legitimate prince, and his blind to shield him from public rumours of his and Natasha's affair. Their relationship ends with his coronation, and that was it.

She was her father's pawn. She had been her father's pawn since young. Her father didn't know, but she knew exactly what he had been using as credit for loans. He always told his creditors "Marisa will pay you back soon", and the creditors gave him money grudgingly to feed his gambling addiction. And so she worked as a mercenary from the age of twelve to pay off her father's mountainous piles of debts. And the most miserable part was that she loved this puppeteer, because he was her father.

She had been manipulated, harassed, demanded by all the people around her since a tender age, and it had continued into adulthood. On the day of Joshua's coronation, with peace in Jehanna again, she would ousted from the palace by the back door, with only her shamshir, and she would resume her life as a street urchin. Her reputation in tatters, her name sullied and disgraced for being discarded by her former husband, her skills tarnished and her youth faded, no one would leave any pity for her.

Maybe except her friends.

But her friends would leave eventually. Gerik and Tethys would eventually start a family and leave their mercenary lives. Ewan would grow up and leave to explore the world. Saleh would be immersed in her scholarly studies.

Everyone would have a bright future to look forward to.

Everyone except her.

After such a long period of silent reflection, she had finally realized that all along, she had unwittingly been playing the pawn. By having emotions, by succumbing to these _things _called feelings, she had been a fool. She flared whenever they needed her anger; she laughed whenever they needed to placate her; she fell in love when they needed her devotion; she broke her heart when they needed her sorrow.

Everything…everything was an elaborate plot by all of them. Every single one of them. They were master puppeteers, ardent manipulators, and adroit artisans of the art of toying with others' feelings.

She had been blind, foolish and innocent. But after three long confining months of agony and despondence in her feeble state, she was discerning, smarter and sharper.

Never again would she be fooled.

* * *

That was why she simply felt a strange calmness when Sir Alexander drifted into the room, announcing that he had been very worried about her health and had taken the time off to visit her.

"It grieves my heart to see your highness like this," he said, squeezing a tear of two from the corners of his eyes. "I am truly sorry if my sudden visit will enervate your highness further." He dabbed his eyes pretentiously with his white silk handkerchief.

"I thank you for your concern, Sir Alexander," she drawled, more of boredom than of dislike.

"I hope that your highness' recent condition was nothing because of the…ahh…servants' talk going around about your highness?" he asked smugly. "Surely you must have heard of it. No! How extraordinary!" He shaped his plump face into one of shock, contorting his mouth into a large 'o'.

She wondered if she could stuff an orange and stopper his mouth. Then it would save her mouth the strain of smiling at him out of sheer courtesy.

"Well then, I shall take the pains to enlighten your highness," he smiled, oozing in a false sincerity that made her skin crawl. "They are rumours, the servants' dinner talk, that your highness has taken multiple lovers behind the prince's back."

She raised an eyebrow at his words. Surprisingly, his words no longer cut her or agitated her the least. Instead, she felt a curious sense of amusement and her lips curled into a smile. "And so? Are there any implications?"

Sir Alexander looked genuinely shocked for a split second, then maneuvered his ruddy face into an expression of surprise. "But your highness!" He cried. "Are you not furious at them? Are you not itching to behead those who have spread these utter lies about you? Don't you wish to know the details of these malicious gossip?"

His outburst only caused her to smile wider. Now, she was genuinely amused. _If I could behead him, I certainly would. Behead those servants? No thanks; I still crave my luxuries like good food and soft bedding. _"Pray tell, my dear prime minister. Why indeed should I be interested about servants' talk?"

He looked flabbergasted. "But your highness!" he spluttered. "They are about you! They desecrate your royal chaste image! They taint your imperial sacred name and title! They defame your highness' noble visage and portrait!" He added slyly. "And the prince has heard about them too."

_Oh, and I am supposed to feel something just because Joshua knows about it? _She resisted the impulse to burst into laughter at the outrageousness of the situation. _I think I like myself this way better. No feelings; no emotions; nothing. _"And how does that engender any alarm in me by any chance?" She dismissed his spluttering as though they were nothing of importance.

His mouth dropped open involuntarily.

_Oh, yes, Sir Alexander. Meet the new me. I can assure you, I will not let you off this easily. You had better watch your step. Keep in mind: toe the line, for if you step over, I shall be the one to push you over._

He swallowed. Evidently, she had foiled his plans.

"Your highness, you are…peculiar this morning…" He mopped his forehead with his sleeve lightly, smiling uneasily. She could see the cunning and evil intentions slipping away in his eyes, replaced by a wary caution and frantic confusion. "If the prince know…surely that would place some friction between the two of you that would lead to a scandal in the royal family? This matter is of utmost peril to the palace and royal family!"

She laughed derisively. "Believe me, Sir Alexander. The prince and I are erratic people; we do not argue over such trivial matters. It is of no concern to us whether the rumour persists or dies down. Rumours are rumours, they are groundless."

"No smoke without fire," he muttered incoherently under his breath, but she caught his words.

"Indeed, especially when the fires are started intentionally by someone else," she countered, resuming a nonchalant expression. "Curious, isn't it? I wonder who started the rumours. That person must have been severely offended by the royal family. I heard something about Joshua being quite interested in firing the person who started this rumour mill, and the queen seems to be the buttress of his idea. I do wonder who it is…" Her eyes flickered knowingly to him, a triumphant but subdued expression in her eyes.

His face turned an unappealing shade of mottled purple. He coughed heavily into his white silk handkerchief. He appeared to be trying to regain his composure and clam his agitation, but his hands were trembling.

_Puzzled by my contradictory actions? _She sniggered internally. _Shouldn't be. After all, my dear prime minister, you started the war._

With a hasty farewell, Sir Alexander exited the room with as much dignity as he could muster with shaking hands and an unattractive maroon face. She caught the sharp look of bewilderment, suspicion and hatred that gleamed in his eyes as he stared at her just before shutting the door. It felt like being looked upon by the Evil Eye, but she held her ground. Smiling falsely, she gave him a little wave, following which he slammed the door heavily.

_I won._

She leant back on the bed in euphoria and the sweet taste of vengeance. _Oh…he will be having several sleepless nights starting from tonight…_She giggled.

She liked herself better this way. Without emotions and feelings, she could discard all her emotional burden, everything she felt when she had been bound by her heart.

This way, with the cold dark shadow cloaking her heart and the grey veil pulled over her eyes, she would act with a cool head and with rational awareness. No way were they going to manipulate her any longer. She was going to be her own person. And she was going to decide her own fate.

Between pain and a numbing blankness, she would prefer the latter.

* * *

That particular afternoon, she awoke to shouting in the sitting room. Even with the door closed tightly, she could hear the shouting match taking place in the outer room. So much for apparently soundproof walls.

"I tell you, we're taking her away!" That was Gerik. She could recognize that coarse, loud and rumbling voice anywhere. He was shouting at the top of his voice, something he never did unless he was very angry.

"You are not doing anything remotely like that." That would be her dearest husband Joshua, the one who cheated on her with the cleric in the infirmary and fathered an illegitimate child behind her back. "I will never allow you to take Marisa away."

"And who are you to stop me?" Gerik threatened. She guessed currently he was showing off his beefy muscles to a very annoyed Joshua who would hardly be impressed by the bulging lumps, considering that he was one who favoured speed and sleekness.

"I, if you recall, am the prince." Joshua retorted simply, his polite words barely masking the strain in his voice from his fury.

"I don't care if you are the holy emperor from beyond the seas!" Gerik bellowed. "We are taking her away this instant! Come Tethys! We shall take her away from this damned palace!"

There was a heavy knock on the door as she heard someone's body slam onto it. "Not over my dead body." Joshua had dumped the diplomatic and polite trash.

"If we wait anymore it'll be over _her_ dead body!" Gerik shouted furiously. "First, you kidnap her into this confining carpeted hole you call a palace by betting with her father! Then you went on and let her soak herself till she collapsed from near death due to her fever! And now you drive her to sheer desperation that she even took pills to escape this carpeted hellhole and your flaming waterfall of hair! And you won't let us take her away?"

_Took pills to escape this carpeted hellhole? Hell, did they really think I wanted to subject myself to this silent torture? It was because some stupid servant accidentally switched my medicine! _She huffed in annoyance. Gerik was always so worried about her, but he always worried about the wrong things.

"No." Joshua was stubborn.

"Are you going to let us pass?" Gerik demanded.

"No." Joshua persisted.

_My…but he is persistent…maybe it's just a possessive streak, even over a toy he doesn't like._

"Are you stupid?" Gerik snarled. She could tell that he was quickly losing his patience.

"No." Joshua gritted his teeth, but held his ground.

There was heavy pounding on the door, then Gerik's roar of rage as the pounding stopped. If that was Joshua stopping Gerik from breaking down the door, she had to admit, but Joshua was much stronger than he looked. For a second, she marveled at her husband's strength.

The door burst open.

She sat up in bed, ready to face a worried Tethys and a storming Gerik.

Instead, it was Saleh.

Frantically, he rushed across her room to her bedside. Before she could even greet him, he clutched her to him in a tight, almost desperate embrace, like a drowning man clutching at a straw.

"Marisa…" he cried. "I was so worried when I heard the news!" He drew back and stared at her full in the face. He looked the epitome of rage, worry and relief at the same time. "How could you do such a thing to yourself! To take your life! Even if that bastard had been abhorrent to you, you could have always escaped from his demonic clutches! You could have come to me!" He brushed a stray hair away from her forehead affectionately. "I told you, I'll catch you if you fall. I'll always be there waiting for you." He brushed his hand over her cheeks. "You're so thin now…all because of that sick bastard…"

She hung her head a little. After all, the door was open and Joshua had a perfect view of Saleh holding her. Even though she was amused by Saleh's unusual outburst and Joshua's new label as 'that sick bastard', she still had enough modesty in her to blush when touched by someone who was not at all her husband.

Said sick bastard wrestled Gerik away from the door with surprising strength before rushing over beside her and tearing her away from Saleh's embrace.

"Take your hands off my wife." It was a command, an imperial edict. He closed his arms protectively around her.

Saleh appeared to not have even noticed his grandiose entrance. "Marisa…we came today to take you away," he said softly, offering her a gentle smile. Reaching forward, he grasped her hand. "This life in the palace is unhealthy for you. In all those years I knew you, you never fell ill. But ever since you came here, you have been falling ill, running fevers and attempting suicide out of the things that we actually know of." He sighed. "I won't let you suffer this type of abuse anymore. I'm taking you home."

"You are not." Joshua interrupted sharply. He tightened his hold on her till she was crushed against his chest.

"That's for her to decide," Gerik boomed. "Come on Marisa, we will overpower him. And then we can all go home and be mercenaries again!"

"Marisa, choose wisely," Tethys pleaded.

Saleh didn't encourage or dissuade her, but he gave her a look so full of longing and love and hope and happiness that her heart almost broke just looking at him. Slowly, he nodded his head, as though asking her to do the same and acquiesce to their request.

_They are…such good friends…_

Joshua's face was the opposite of Saleh's. It was dark, full of desperation and despondency and helplessness and fury. He stared unwavering at Saleh, his jaw clenched firmly.

"I won't allow it," he seethed.

"You will," Gerik retorted merrily. "Look Tethys, her gaze is wavering! She does that whenever she changes her mind." He did a happy jig there at the door. "Our Marisa is coming home with us today!" He danced, twirling Tethys in large circles. "Let's rename ourselves Marisa's Mercenaries!"

She chuckled gently, as did Saleh. Gerik was so cute sometimes that he acted almost like Ewan, or even younger than Ewan.

Joshua looked agitated. "No!" He said firmly. "I'm not letting you take her away. She belongs here, in the palace. I have the oathpaper."

"Damn you to a frilly hell with your blasted oathpaper!" Gerik roared in a fury, nearly dropping Tethys. "Who are you to stop us?"

He hesitated for an answer, but his gaze hardened. She knew he still had one trump card up his sleeve, that the ace of spades was hidden in his hand, and she foresaw him using that card to keep her in the palace.

"I. Am. Your. Prince." He pronounced each word fully and perfectly. She could see his unwillingness to use this, but she too could spy that hint of desperation in his eyes that called for this as a last resort. "You, as a citizen of Jehanna, are required to submit to my demands."

Gerik looked enraged and clenched his fists. He almost looked ready to crush Joshua into pulp with his bare hands until Tethys put a restraining hand on his arm as a warning. Swearing under his breath, he slammed his fist into the door, making a large dent in the wood covered with sharp splinters.

Blood dripped from his knuckles as he stormed out of the room, followed by Tethys.

She hung her head lower. She saw it coming. But she was powerless to warn them or stop Joshua.

Saleh looked downcast. "So you won't be coming back with us?" He whispered softly, his voice breaking.

_His voice is breaking. _She bit down on her lower lip. _My heart is breaking too._

"Saleh…" She was afraid to look at him. She feared the look of deep sorrow and grief and disappointment that would lace his gaze. She was scared of the hint of tears that would be slowly but surely lining his eyes, making them gleam with a mournful luster. She swallowed heavily, then gave him a small smile, the best that she could salvage out of her own distress. "Saleh…I will come back. Once he is coronated, Joshua said that he would file for a divorce and I can return to all of you again." She glanced at her husband, who was wearing a look of unwillingness, for affirmation. "Right?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "I did promise you once upon a time," he corroborated, but tightened his hold on her shoulders.

Saleh looked struck by shock, but quickly recovered and his expression changed swiftly into one of elation. "Really! That's wonderful!" In his joy, his soft and mild tone rose by an octave. "I can hardly wait for that day to come, Marisa! It's not far from now, is it? It's not? That's _wonderful_!" He grasped Joshua's hands and shook them earnestly. "Thank you, your highness! I can hardly express my appreciation for your act of kindness for our Marisa. I was never good with words, but this time I must really thank you!" He stepped back, a wide smile on his face. "I must go and tell the rest the good news." He bowed to Joshua, then took her hand.

Behind her, Joshua stiffened.

"I await that day with eagerness, Marisa," he smiled. "Then we can finally sit by the cherry tree together again. We'll have so many things to do, maybe start a little cherry patisserie in town…" His gaze flickered to Joshua with slight apprehension. "I…" he hesitated.

Joshua stiffened even more and pulled her closer against him.

Saleh bit his lip, but shed his hesitation and gave her a broad smile. "Marisa." There was not the slightest trepidation in his voice, but it did possess a new bold courage. "I love you."

She gasped at the inappropriateness of the statement, even though she was truly touched by his profession. _Joshua is behind me for goodness' sake! How can he profess his love while my husband stand behind me with a sword ready in hand! And he is the prince! _She looked behind wildly at Joshua, who was breathing heavily and slowly, no doubt in a desperate bid to keep his feelings in check at Saleh's audacious statement. _He's not taking this very well…I wonder…_She felt a stab of pity for her husband. Having another man confess his desire for his wife right before him must be agonizing awkward and a heavy blow to his pride! She marveled at his excellent self-control. _His sword is still in its scabbard, and his hands are still on my shoulders._

Drunk in his euphoria at the good news, Saleh appeared not to have noticed anything amiss. "I'll see you soon, Marisa." With one last bow to Joshua, he spun on his heels and whirled out of the room, his cape billowing behind him.

There was an awkward silence. A really awkward silence, in fact.

She sat on the bed with her head lowered, tracing the patterns intently on the bed sheets with feigned interest. She did not dare lift her head to look at him. Was he angry? Saddened? Frustrated? Annoyed? Going to lift his sword, dash after Saleh and disembowel him?

Whatever it was, she hoped it was not the last one. Saleh was her best friend, and even though she could hardly reciprocate his love she still had tender affections for this childhood friend who had grown up with her. She would definitely not permit Joshua to lift a finger to harm him.

She gasped as strong hands grasped her shoulders and winced as her back slammed against the wall. Before she could vocally protest, he covered her mouth in a crushing kiss.

Unable to stop herself, she whimpered under his ministrations. His tongue touched hers in long masterful strokes, causing her to squirm under his tight grasp. She was trapped between him and the wall, unable to do anything but succumb to him.

He pulled away slowly, his breathing ragged. "It's time for your medicine," he said, clearing his throat. "I'll ask Belle to bring it in for you."

He too, spun on his heels and left the room, leaving her alone and silent on the bed, mulling over what had just transpired.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Guess what?**

**Joshua's jealous.**

**Hehe.**

**I'm ebbbiiiillll. (Change b to a v, sorry .)**

**I just re-wrote my entire outline for the story. And thus things might change a little. Don't really know whether it would be a good or a bad thing but...**

**XD Love, snowylavendermist**


	21. Shackles of Choice

**Shackles of Choice**

_They always did say that each and every one of us has the freedom of choice, right? Theoratically yes, but only in idealistic situations. The truth is that everyone of us is tied down by so many responsibilties that we cannot cannot choose sometimes, but has to settle for what is the option that is available. _

_For example, you can choose a killing edge at a weapon shop. But guess what? You are a sage, you don't know how to use a killing edge. Or even better, you can use a killing edge but you don't have the money to buy it._

* * *

Things sped past as she spent her days lying down, mostly uselessly, on the bed. Not that she minded. For one, she rested fully and regained full health. Every bit of listlessness had been expelled from her body. For two, she had overcome her emotional barrier and now stood as an independent young woman, ready to defend her own interests in this web of intrigue in this palace, which she had somehow gotten herself involved in. For three, she no longer loved Joshua. When he walked into the same room as she did, she no longer felt that rapid pounding of her heart and her heavy breathing, neither did she feel the blush creeping to her cheeks nor the feeling of warmth of tenderness, so she was out of love, right?

As such, on the fine morning when the nurses, led by Natasha, examined her and declared her fit to roam the palace grounds again, all she did was smile politely at them, waited patiently till they left, dismissed Belle from the room, close the door behind them and reflect on everything she had deduced in her introspective period of confinement.

Things were looking well. Once she survived this conflict, she could patiently wait for Joshua to become king and she would be free, liberal to do whatever she wanted again. No more titles, no more responsibilities, no more seeing the odious faces of guests and ministers (especially not Prime Minister Alexander). Little wonder she found herself anticipating her expulsion from the palace, a circumstance that most would find dreadful and horrifying.

She had friends to go to, a mansion to live in (she didn't particularly care about the dust and dirt, those could be repaired and cleaned), and something to do (continue living as a mercenary and climbing cherry trees). Or if she felt really adventurous, she recalled with a laugh, she could always accept Saleh's offer and open a cherry patisserie selling all sorts of goodies stuffed with cherries and cherry fillings.

Only that she would possibly end up eating everything that was supposed to be filling the store shelves.

And that was if she didn't blow the kitchen to pieces first. Given her culinary skills, she would possibly become a pastry chef the day it rained shamshirs.

Contemplatively, she looked out into the garden. Winter had come and gone. The snowflakes had been brushed away they melted into puddles of water. The old cherry tree, the one that she used to sit in, was sprouting new leaves and buds. In a few weeks, the new foliage would unfold and the buds would, hopefully, blossom into lovely new cherry blossoms, just as exquisite and beautiful as last year's had been.

All they needed was time.

Rising, she went to open the window. Taking deep breaths, she inhaled the fresh spring air, relishing in the sweet perfume of the spring flowers. She could smell lilies…anemones…hyacinths…plum blossoms…After being cooped up for so long in a room with only the smell of linen and medicines to keep her company, the refreshing scent was very welcomed indeed.

_Perhaps I should go and pick a fresh bouquet for my room…_

The smile faded from her lips. _Now that I'm recovered…does that mean that Joshua will be sharing the bed with me again? Where has he been sleeping while I was ill? _She frowned darkly. _Possibly with a certain cleric in the infirmary, looking after his baby Henry and trying to produce another to name him James or something._

"You know that frowning too much is not good for your face, you'll get premature wrinkles."

She gasped as she opened her eyes to see Rennac outside the window, carrying a large bouquet of flowers in his arms and reclining lazily against the windowpane.

"I didn't know you were here," she said finally. "You scared me." She turned to go in and sit on the bed.

Skillfully, he flipped himself over the windowsill and landed quietly on the carpet, like a cat with padded paws. "Phew!" He clutched his nose. "Your room smells like the infirmary! Eww! Gross! These flowers will wilt inside here thanks to the smell!"

"Thanks for reminding me," she replied dryly, taking the flowers from him and hunted for an empty vase. "I have been cooped up in this damned henhouse for the past three months." She reached out and locked the door.

He whirled around to face her at the sound of the door locking. "You…" He pointed nervously at the door. "Aren't going to keep me inside and murder me in cold blood in your bathtub, are you?"

She rolled her eyes. "That is exactly what I intend to do," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Get your sorry self into the bathtub and let's get it over and done with. I promise you a grand funeral."

He looked relieved at sarcasm, his tense facial muscles relaxing into a grin. "People are going to get awfully suspicious. If your husband knows about this, he'll carve a hole in my face the size of a plate."

She stared at him, arms folded. "There is already talk about the two of us."

He looked at her, shrugged, and sat on the armchair, placing his feet on the table. "And you still entertain me in your private _bedroom_?" He snickered, examining a gold ornament. "Aren't you afraid of the rumours?"

"If I am truly afraid I will have chopped you up in the bathtub by now," she said monotonously. "Fried Rennac pieces with onion and leeks."

He paused. "Heh, if it hadn't been me, it would actually have been pretty funny." He held up the ornament he had been fingering. "Mind giving me a present?"

"Joshua may notice," she remarked, noting in amusement the speed at which Rennac swiftly replaced the ornament on the mantelpiece. "You scared of him?"

He shook his head. "Not really," he shrugged. "I'm just a little lazy to fight him off. I'm not bad with a sword, but it's pretty tiring and boring."

"You live in a very inert manner," she commented, arranging the flowers. "Lilies; at least you have good taste."

"Hey, I resent that!" Rennac declared hotly. "I'm charming and all and I am not inert. I came all the way here just to see if you have died yet."

She arched an eyebrow. _That was so comforting. _"And if you found me dead, what would you do?"

He scratched his chin, shaking his leg. "Dump the flowers on your grave, say sorry for not accompanying you when you were dying and proceed to filch everything of value from your room while everyone is mourning."

She laughed. Crude as he was, at least he was one person who was honest to her in this bold web of lies.

There was a knock on the door, and he bolted to the window, frozen with fear. She, too, froze where she had been examining the flowers. If they remained quiet enough, the servants may think that she had fallen asleep and leave her alone.

Finally, the footsteps went away.

He heaved a sigh of relief. "That was close."

She shot him a surprised glance. "You are unusually jumpy."

"It's hard to not be jumpy when there had been five murder attempts on you for the past week," he snapped. "One for every day of the week."

"Five?" She frowned. Even she had not had so many. Twice a year was still considered a miniscule amount compared to more prominent people like Lord Ephraim and Prince Innes.

"Yeah," he replied glumly. "Twice, I was walking when strange masked people threw throwing stars at my throat. Once was a murder attempt when I was sleeping; fortunately I woke up just before he dissected my throat. The other time was poison in my wine; my servant died thanks to that. The last time was at the Rausten Court, somebody tried to strangle _within_ the palace." He shook his leg. "Nowhere is safe nowadays." He paused and grinned. "Maybe except here."

She arched an eyebrow.

"You frighten all those assassins away. Jehanna seems to be the least intruded place in the entire of Magvel. Heck, the Rausten Court is full of all those assassins." He huffed. "The Palaces of Renais and Frelia have long been infiltrated, even before the times of war. Did you hear, the war minister of Renais had been assassinated last week?"

"Really." She frowned. _Scarcely any of my business. He was probably one of those pudgy lords who ate too much. _"But why would they want to kill _you_? You are hardly of any importance."

Rennac stood up and puffed to his full height. "I would have you know that I am the only son of the Carcino best arms and weaponry merchant," he said indignantly. "Those Grado spies probably think that by killing me, they can stop the sales of weaponry from Carcino into Frelia and Rausten, which doesn't work because my father controls the trade and _he_ is nearly undefeatable. So much help my death would do." He yawned. "The thing about Grado is, they don't have very good spies. The best ones are from Jehanna, like you. I think Grado will want to recruit you. Their assassins' aim SUCKS, mind you; and they hardly know their agenda and the way to accomplish their aims. Unfortunately, there are only so many times a throwing star can fly at you before one makes a hole on your bottom." He concluded, playing with the gold chain of one of her necklaces.

"They have a lot of soldiers," she commented.

"Yeah, so I better watch my back these few days," he said dryly. "Otherwise I may not survive to see my father for summer."

"Where are you going to hide then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "No idea. The entire world is cloaked in danger and traps. Everyday I feel as though I'm walking into a legion of traps and ambushes."

They sat in silence. She was stroking the waxy petals of the white lilies, while he sat with his feet on the table and his eyes glued on the ruby of the necklace he was fondling.

"Oh, yeah." He said suddenly. "I just remembered, I've got something for you." He fumbled in his trouser pockets and turned out nothing. Reaching deep into his shirt pockets, he hunted around. Still nothing. Sighing, he groped his cloak, trying to find whatever he was going to give her. "Ah, here it is." He handed her a grubby looking package.

"May I?" Seeing his nod, she untied the coarse string and unwrapped the package, squinting at the array of things lying within. "This is?"

"My father's latest inventions for stealth attacks," he explained. "These are some of his ideas, and not all will be marketed. The best prototypes he always hands to me to try and keep me save. Much help it does."

She eyed set of needles, very much like those you find in an embroidery basket, with caution. They looked innocently harmless, but she had a bad feeling of what they would do if they came into contact with flesh.

"Throwing knives are large; throwing stars are thick; they're both easy to detect and dodge," Rennac explained. "So my father devised these throwing needles instead. You throw them in the direction of your opponent. The streamlined shape makes it easy to fly in a straight line through air, and it's small, so it makes it hard to see until it pokes into flesh. The tip is coated with deadly venom and Gorgon blood, in dosages high enough to kill instantaneously." He took the pack and demonstrated. "You hide them inside your belt like this, and when you need one, just jab it at your opponent."

"And this?" She asked, holding up a fan.

"My favourite," he said. "You use it as a normal weapon." He opened the fan in a swift motion and sharpened darts tore from the fan, hitting the wall behind her. "Not bad huh?"

She smiled. The inventions did seem pretty useful. "Are these for me?"

"Technically, yes, choose one," he said generously. "I'll just tell my father that I used up the needles." He wrapped up the package again. "You sure you aren't leaving?"

She halted where she had been admiring the shiny reflection of sunlight off the needles. Was she sure? She had been sure. But was she sure now?

_I…I don't know…_

"No."

"No as in, not sure? Or not leaving?" he persisted.

"Neither." She sighed as she hid the case of needles on the inside of her belt. "I don't know."

He snickered. "Still pining over lover boy?"

"No," she refuted sharply. She was out of love with Joshua. OUT of love. It was over. OVER.

"Really?" He sniggered again, pocketing the small package in one of his deep pockets.

"Yes," she hissed.

"I have the feeling that somehow, you are pretty much in a state of denial induced by your own delusions and misguided wants," he observed. "Hey!" He dodged the vase that flew at his head, smashed against the wall behind him and smashed. "Those lilies were expensive…" he lamented, bending down to pick them up again. "Come on, little lily bouquet, let's give you to L'Arachel. Maybe she'll like you little recycled posy better than Mrs. Grouch over here."

A cushion flew towards his head and smacked him right on the back of his head.

"Score one," she drawled, flinging herself down on the couch. Her hands itched. She wanted a good spar, wanted to lift her sword once more, feel the rustle of the wind blowing while she swung her sword with precision and strength. She feared that if she remained cooped in his cage for any longer, she would begin suffering from muscular atrophy sooner or later.

The loss of her skills would be terrible. Those were the only things that she could always depend on.

"Let's spar." She grabbed her shamshir, unsheathed it and pointed it at his head.

He gave her the look as though he was speaking to a lunatic. "Are you _mad_?" He cried, flabbergasted. "You just recovered, for one. For two, you are currently in a room that is choked with all kinds of glassware and porcelain stuff. For three, I…" He turned around in a full circle. "Am not carrying anything vaguely like a weapon besides those things my father gave me."

"Urgh!" Throwing her hands in the air, she flopped down on the couch again, looking at him in relative distaste. "Who the heck leaves their house without their sword, lance, axe, bow and arrow, staves or tomes?"

"Me!" Rennac's hand shot high into the air. "And Innes I think…I never see him carrying his bow and quiver around, unless he is practicing. But off course that is assuming that he only knows how to use a bow." He made a face. "For all we know, he knows how to use a mini axe which he hangs from his boot or something."

She rolled her eyes. "Nonsen-"

There was a knock on the door. "Princess Marisa! The Queen wishes to see you now at the Hall of Serenity!"

She stiffened and looked at Rennac, who, taking the hint, concealed himself behind the drapery. Rising, she opened the door.

"Your highness!" Belle bowed. "Queen Ismaire gave orders that she wants to see you at the Hall of Serenity now. She is with the Prince and the Lord Fulrer of Carcino and his esteemed daughter."

She nodded. "I'll be there." Turning around, she slammed the door.

"Lord Fulrer?" Rennac crept out from behind the drapery. "He's one of the senior senators in Carcino, specializes in architecture and city planning for the nation."

"What's he like?" She asked, arranging her hair.

"Disgusting vile putrid old man." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Too much scheming, too much white hair, too little leisure time, too few good words for anyone besides his obnoxious family and friends. His daughter is said, however, to be a rare beauty. She never appears in public; I've never seen her." He grinned. "Think I could hide under your skirt or something?"

She flung another pillow at him. "Get out by the window. I won't see you out." She opened the door. "Oh, and take the necklace you were playing with if you want, I don't want it." She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

The Hall of Serenity was brightly lit, even though it was broad daylight outside and the sunlight streamed in through the open windows.

The servants announced her, and she stepped into the room, blinking uncomfortably at the incense that was burning in the burner. It was spicy and strangely exotic, but it did not appeal to her olfactory senses. She sniffed.

"Your highness." The man on the couch rose and bowed respectfully. "A pleasure to be of acquaintance. I am Lord Fulrer of Carcino." His voice was rough and raspy, like the sound of a creaking gate that had been abandoned and not oiled for decades. A few sparse grey patches of thin hair spread out over his balding scalp, and his features were wrinkled and pinched, giving the appearance of old age. However, his eyes were round, dark and beady, resembling a rat's.

_This man…he's not what he seems to be at first glance…_She deduced swiftly. _He has got his ulterior motives._

Beside him stood a young lady, approximately of her own age. She was tall, almost as tall as Joshua, but slender and willowy like a graceful pliant flower. Her complexion was flawless and fashionably pale, with slightly flushed cheeks that seemed only to highlight her high cheekbones. Her pale yellow hair was long, and fell loosely down her back. It resembled fine gold threads, sparkling under the sunlight. Her eyes were twin pools of aqua, beneath long gold-flecked eyelashes. Her nose was classically small, and her lips were the colour of rubies. When she smiled, her red lips parted to reveal two perfect lines of white pearly teeth.

Lord Fulrer noticed her looking. "And this is my daughter, Helen."

Helene smiled at her and swept her a perfect curtsey. "A pleasure to be of acquaintance, your highness." Her voice was like the sound of chiming spring bells, or sparkling spring water running down the slops. It was a golden voice, a honeyed voice, a voice she could never hope to have.

A little knot of annoyance tugged at her persistently. She disliked these rich lords' daughters and sons who looked perfect as a picture but could scarcely hold a sword without injuring themselves in the process. _Ornamental people, _she thought in distaste. _Strictly for decorative purposes only. And one wonders where the term 'trophy wife' came from._

She forced a smile, and took a seat on the couch opposite Lord Fulrer and his daughter. Queen Ismaire sat perpendicular from her right, wearing a look of serene peace and blissful happiness as she sipped her tea indulgently. Joshua sat next to her, but his face was tense and his jaw was set.

"Marisa, I called you because we were at a deadlock, and we could hardly solve this without external intervention," Queen Ismaire explained. "Joshua suggested that you were perhaps a stakeholder as well, and thus asked for your presence here with us. Is that agreeable with you?"

She nodded. "The issue at hand would be?"

Queen Ismaire nodded at Lord Fulrer, signaling for him to continue.

"Well you see, your highness, Magvel is on the brink of a continental war, and thus in order to ensure that Grado does not manage to eliminate us one by one," he explained. "It would be imperative to forge ties of aid and alliances so as to assist one another in times of need, right?"

She nodded. "Continue."

"Well, this form of alliance comes in many types, you see," Lord Fulrer continued explaining. "There are treaties, such as the Renais-Frelia pact and the Grado-Renais Treaty, the latter having sadly been broken recently. There are also promises, like Prince Innes' promises to deliver aid to Lord Ephraim should the threat arise from Grado due to their common interests and common enemy. However, the first two are limited in their scope of alliance, since it is all but words and ink on paper. Promises cannot even be verified in the future, while paper can be burnt and destroyed. However there is this one strong binding alliance that would secure all forms of diplomacy between two nations in the simplest of all manners." He leant in closer and said the word in a hoarse whisper.

"Marriage."

The air seemed to have frozen for a minute, with everyone staring at her reaction.

Sorry to disappoint, but she had no expression whatsoever.

Lord Fulrer looked stunned at her lack of reaction, and knitted his brows. "I assume your highness caught my last word?"

"Yes," she said, waving her hand irritably. _Why do people always think I don't understand them when I don't show any expression? Isn't it standard to keep a straight face when discussing diplomatic issues, or even every day matters for that?_

He looked briefly at his daughter, as though contemplating what to say at her lack of response, before opening his mouth to continue.

"Jehanna and Carcino have been on relatively good terms ever since the founding of Carcino. As such, the Senate is hopeful that such a lasting and historical alliance will not be broken in the face of this impending catastrophe, which would certainly be a sacrilege to our forefathers' heroic efforts. Carcino may not have a large army, indeed, most of our defenders are hired from Jehanna, but Carcino is a mercantile nation. We deal in all kinds of goods, from weaponry to foodstuffs. These things are indubitably necessities in the face of this looming crisis. Jehanna has a large well-built and sophisticated army, more than capable of defending their home soil. But Grado has soldiers, many more times the number of soldiers Jehanna possesses. Without the essential equipment, food and other supplies, Jehanna may fall whilest battling. That is of course, the worst-case scenario. As such, for the mutual benefit of our nations, I propose an alliance of marriage."

"And who is marrying who?" She asked, slightly amused. _Maybe this old man would ask to marry Queen Ismaire. That would be hilarious. But wait…he brought his daughter along, and Rennac said his daughter was a reclusive bedroom kind of girl…so it must be his daughter and…_

"Prince Joshua and my daughter, Helen," he said, confirming her hypothesis.

"Is it not bigamy?" she asked. Truth to be told, she could scarcely care if Joshua married a whole harem of beautiful women, each younger than the other. She no longer loved him, and what he did was of little concern to her. _He can go marry a dancing chimpanzee if he wants to!_

But to be part of a bigamy ploy…her lips curled in distaste at the idea. It would sully her name, and it would be degrading for her. The least they could do was confirm the engagement and marry after she got out of the palace.

"Oh no!" Lord Fulrer smiled. _Rennac was right; this man is odious. _"Royalty and nobility have the choice of several wives if they choose. Of course, it would scarcely threaten your position and standing, your highness. My daughter would gladly be the concubine, and be subservient towards you and your decisions. It would be no trouble at all. Absolutely no trouble at all." He looked towards Queen Ismaire. "Of course, there would be the additional chance of an heir being born quickly."

So _that_ was what he had used to convince Queen Ismaire of his plan. The Queen sat looking more contented than ever, evidently happy with the plan and the idea of having another prospective daughter-in-law and a grandchild.

_So if Queen Ismaire agrees, and Joshua, that philanderer, agrees…what exactly is the problem? _"And why am I involved?"

"Oh you see," Lord Fulrer explained courteously. "We thought that you would be a major stakeholder in the plans so we decided that it would be for the best if you would give your consent as well…"

Joshua coughed, the first noise he made ever since she entered the room. "The problem is this: Mother agrees, but I don't agree. So it is a deadlock and they want you to say yes or no so it would no longer be an even vote."

Lord Fulrer paled. His smile vanished, replaced by a thin hard line.

Helen seemed not to have heard anything.

"Joshua!" Queen Ismaire chided warningly. "Watch your tone."

Joshua swallowed. "That is the truth."

Queen Ismaire sighed and turned to her. "I know, Marisa, that this may be hard on you, but you understand that from a mother's and a queen's perspective, the situation is dire. Having…another bride would help Joshua, and help the throne. So…consider this as another favour I have of you, allow this marriage and the union between Lady Helen and my son."

_Is she using a command on me? _Marisa pondered. _But Joshua…he surprises me…the girl is an ethereal beauty and he doesn't want her? What a contradiction to his nature! Did he drink too much last night and thus he's having a delusional hangover now or something?_

"So your highness?" Lord Fulrer smiled hopefully, baring his yellow teeth. "Do you agree?"

_Leading question._

"Do you consent?" Queen Ismaire asked.

_More leading questions._

"Marisa…"

She glanced thoughtfully at the ceiling when there was in fact nothing to think about. The answer was very clear in her mind, and she had already decided on the answer even before Lord Fulrer began his advertising.

She was lost from love; but others still had the chance.

"Why not?" she smiled.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I can't believe I did that to Marisa *weeps* Oh, and Helen is modelled after Helen of Troy, like epic beauty queen.**

**Never like old fat wheezy lordlings, waddling ducks, all of them. Especially those with scheming minds.**

**~ snowylavendermist**


	22. Shackles of Ends

**Shackles of Ends**

_No one expects it, but it always comes. THE END. The two words loom dreadfully over everything, like the life that will eventually end, the relationship that will enventaully fade, the bout of good luck that will eventually disappear to allow her sister Lady Bad Luck to enter..._

_And guess what? There are shackles in ends too. Because sometimes it's just so hard to actually end something. Or maybe one party refuses to end the thing, or maybe you're just a L'Arachel reincarnated, and you have unlimited luck._

_Who knows?_

* * *

There was an instant silence, so deadly quiet that even if a ribbon fell on the floor, you could hear the rustling of the silk.

The four individuals in the room all stared at her incredulously.

"That's lovely, Marisa," Queen Ismaire cried in delight. "I knew you were a sensible daughter-in-law!"

"What?" Lord Fulrer's tone suggested triumph, but also surprise at the ease of his victory. He appeared to have expected more of a fight. He sank back onto the couch in disbelief, still contemplating what to make out of her answer.

Helen stiffened, but remained smiling nevertheless. Marisa thought that she looked more like a glazed statue rather than a human being.

"What!" Joshua exclaimed. He looked furious, disappointed and anguished.

Queen Ismaire clasped her hands together in joy, seemingly oblivious to Joshua's response. "Thank you so much, Marisa. I always knew that as Joshua's wife, you always placed his interests first and foremost in your heart. Today, I am truly gratified towards you for allowing this blissful union between my son and Lady Helen." She reached forward and grasped the smooth, white elegant hands of the prospective concubine of her son. "Helen, I, as the Queen of Jehanna, cordially invite you to join our Jehannan family. No, I beseech you, to join our Jehannan royalty. I promise that Joshua and I will offer you the best of whatever we have in the palace."

"Mother!" Joshua interrupted, but was ignored by Queen Ismaire.

"Now, for such a talented, charming and outstanding daughter-in-law, as a mother I assuredly will pay the due bride price, or dowry as they call it, never you fear, Lord Fulrer," she continued.

"I am gratified," Lord Fulrer bowed. "I am unworthy of accepting your highness' gifts and extravagant luxuries."

"Mother!" Joshua glared, hoping to interrupt but to no avail.

"Now, I suppose this marriage will definitely strengthen the bilateral ties of Jehanna and Carcino, will it not?" Queen Ismaire smiled merrily. "Oh, you need more soldiers and mercenaries? Rest assured, Lord Fulrer, that now we are kin Jehanna will do all that we can to aid Carcino in times of distress, never you fear. I suppose another contingent of swordmasters should be enough? Yes? You are willing to offer a thousand crates of swords for one contingent? Why, that is _wonderful_. We, Jehannans have been exceptionally partial towards swords since the time of our forefathers and the armouries are continually in shortage of swords. Yes, yes, indeed. With you as our trading partners-Oh, we even get a family discount? Why, that is more than wonderful, that is _terrific._ I look forward to working with you, Lorrd Fulrer, your terms are certainly very attractive."

_But…Carcino's Senate does not allow for the negotiation of prices for the country…doesn't it run as a mercantile state? That would mean that the arms dealing and trading would be under Rennac's father. This man is in charge of architecture and infrastructure, which is nowhere near commerce. So why is this man here to talk about trade? Something smells…fishy…_

"Mother, I-" Joshua tried again.

"Well then, now that we have the finance sorted out, why not let us discuss the date of the marriage, shall we? I propose that the couple be married as soon as possible. After all, your daughter is certainly very beautiful and we cannot waste time dallying her youth away by pushing back the wedding dates and whatnot. How about-"

"I refuse." The voice was so cold it was bordering icy. She shivered unintentionally.

Joshua was a serious look on his face, and his muscles were tense.

"Joshua!" Queen Ismaire turned to him and scolded, frowning. "Even Marisa has agreed, what else is the matter?"

"Your highness," Lord Fulrer addressed smoothly. "You look extremely tense. Perhaps you would need a massage. My daughter here has been trained well in the arts of serving one's husband. Helen…"

Like an obedient puppy, Helen rose soundlessly and drifted across the room. "Would you like me to relieve some of your stress, Prince Joshua?"

The voice, which a minute ago had been sweet and innocent, had turned sultry. It sent shivers up and down her spine. _Surely Joshua will be unable to resist…_she thought in disgust. _So that's what my future companion will be like…a dog on a leash subservient to her father and to Joshua…_

Joshua shifted himself away from her hands. "I apologise," he said coldly. "But I would not like a massage. If I really want one, I have a wife who will be able to give it to me."

"Joshua!" Queen Ismaire cried in exasperation. "What is wrong with you today, Joshua? These are our guests!"

"Guests or not," Joshua replied sharply. His arms circled protectively around Marisa's waist. "I would not allow them to degrade Marisa."

"I suppose your highness misunderstands our intentions," Lord Fulrer said smoothly. "We aim to degrade no one. Having my daughter as a concubine is not at all degrading to your highness, or Princess Marisa. They could co-exist as princess and concubine happily."

_No…we will not co-exist happily. We will likely live in complete isolation from each other because I won't be able to stand her ways._

"The issue of taking two wives in itself is degradation to both your daughter and my wife," Joshua retorted seriously. "I apologise, Lord Fulrer. Sorry Mother, but I cannot accept this arrangement."

_He is…defending me? Oh wait, he is defending the entirety of women. Yes, that makes more sense._

"Joshua, why can't you see the benefits of this situation?" Queen Ismaire pleaded. "It would aid Jehanna and Carcino, and it would be the most binding bilateral tie. No one asked you to be in love with Helen now. Love can be cultivated through interaction! There is nothing degrading about this to Marisa; even she already agreed to this plan, yet you still disagree?" She pursed her lips.

_Ah…she's going to say it. Finally, she's going to say it._

"Maybe it would aid you in begetting a royal heir as well, Joshua," Queen Ismaire said finally. "It had been a year, and I am tired of waiting, Joshua. War is imminent. Grado will not wait for you to produce an heir before attacking. We cannot afford to wait."

_And this is when he comes come about his numerous affairs, tells his Mother about Natasha and Henry…and they have a huge family reunion, change the prospective concubine's identity and they all live happily ever after in the palace as a complete family. _

Joshua was breathing heavily.

Lord Fulrer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Your highness, perhaps you think my daughter is not beautiful enough for you? But rest assured, she has been flirting with the idea of being your wife since she saw you at the Frelian Ball five years ago. Rest assured-"

"Pay us the courtesy of shutting up, Lord Fulrer," Joshua drawled icily.

Lord Fulrer looked outraged, but shut up.

_Oh…but Joshua is pretty suave when he wants to be…too bad I don't love him…_

"Mother," he said severely, enunciating each word to its fullest. "Whether I have a child or not with Marisa, it is none of anyone else's business. I fully intend to survive the war with Grado intact, and knowing that Marisa is waiting for me will encourage me to live on and fight for my country. So rest assured, Mother, if I leave for battle, you have not seen the last of me. But I refuse to take another wife. My wife will only be Marisa and only Marisa. I will not accept any other individual as my spouse." He cast a scornful glance at Lord Fulrer. "Even if they are noble or anything." He looked back at his mother. "If you force me to the wedding, Mother, forgive me for my imprudence, but you will find the wedding without a groom."

"Why you-" Lord Fulrer exclaimed, but was waved into silence by Queen Ismaire.

The Queen was silent for a long time. "Joshua…" she sighed. "You are my son; I only wish the best for you, from a mother's heart…Are you certain?"

"I have never been more certain in my life, Mother," he replied confidently and swiftly, without a single hesitation.

"Very certain?" The Queen pressed.

"_Very_ certain."

_What just happened?_

"Well then," Queen Ismaire turned to Lord Fulrer and his daughter. "I apologise, Lord Fulrer, but apparently my son has a fond attachment to his wife and refuses to take another spouse out of his ardent love for her. So, I am afraid I would have to reject this betrothal. Good day, Lord Fulrer. Good day, Helen."

Considering the discussion to be over, she emptied her cup gracefully and stood up, completely unruffled.

Lord Fulrer watched the queen's retreating back with a mixture of shock, fury and detest. His face turned a shade of mottled purple as he bard his teeth in rage. With one sweep of his hand, he swept all the teacups onto the floor.

_Well well…the mask is off…_

"You!" Lord Fulrer pointed a finger at her face, fists clenched.

_Me?_

"You whore! You common _whore_!" He spat acrimoniously. "You are the reason why my plan failed! _You_! Some common street loose woman rescued because you bewitched the prince!"

_How dare he? _Her hand went to her shamshir. If he were not the senator of Carcino, he would be little than a bloody mashed pile of pulp on the ground right now for insulting her.

She need not have fretted, for Joshua's sword was unsheathed and pointing at Lord Fulrer's throat.

"I do not tolerate abuse of any form thrown at my wife in my or her vicinity or on the palace grounds," he threatened coldly. "Leave, Lord Fulrer, you are no longer welcomed here in my abode."

Lord Fulrer glared at Joshua, at her and at the sword pointing to the hollow of his throat. He knew that if he made any slight protest, Joshua would fulfill his threat of driving the sword into its targeted area. Slowly, he inched towards the door. "Good day, your highnesses," he spat bitterly as he exited. "You'll pay for what you did today."

Helen trailed behind her father, like a ghost following its master.

With a heavy slam of the door, they were gone.

* * *

Marisa sat calmly in the middle discordant mess of what had once been the furnishings of their bedroom, legs crossed as she perched on the oaken chair, polishing her shamshir as though there was nothing wrong.

Joshua swung his sword, and the blade struck a vase. Promptly, the vase was swept off its prominent place on the marble podium and fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand shards.

Not stopping to assess the damage, he turned around and slashed his sword through a pillow, slicing the poor pillowcase into two. A shower of white down rained on their heads and onto the carpet. Carelessly, he threw the torn pillowcase to join the pile of wreckage on the floor, perusing through what remained of the room for a new target.

There was more discordant cacophony: sounds of porcelain breaking, the noises of silk ripping apart, the rustling of feathers, the crunch of glass shards as Joshua stepped on them, the tearing of books, the clang of metal ornaments as they hit the ground, definitely ending their existence as an ornament.

Finally, he stood before her, sword in hand, bunch of drooping flowers in the other.

She raised her head expectantly.

"These were not here in the morning," he said matter-of-factly. There was a barely noticeable strain in his voice. "Yet, I find them here when I come in the afternoon. Where did they come from?"

It was the lilies.

_Damn._

"Good question." She feigned ignorance as she gave him her standard I-don't-care look. "I don't know how it got here either. Why don't you ask Belle? Maybe she placed them here to refresh the room."

He did not budge. "Marisa, don't lie to me," he said flatly. "These are the lilies of Rausten, only grown in the Rausten Imperial Gardens, why would they be here if not someone came from Rausten and brought them with him?"

"Ridiculous," she said hollowly. "Anyone could have brought them here and placed them in the vase you just smashed."

"I didn't smash that vase," he retorted smoothly. "It was smashed even when we just came in. I didn't even touch that mess until I saw these lilies. Who is it?"

"I have no idea what you are saying," she replied coldly. "Perhaps you went to visit L'Arachel and brought it back by mistake or something. Maybe someone sneaked in while I was sleeping and left it here."

"Or maybe someone came to visit you, came inside, gave you the lilies and stayed for a while in this place with his legs on the table!" He concluded his statement with a lean cleave onto the table. The sheer force of his fury smashed the table into two portions. "Is that person's name Rennac, Marisa?"

"How would I know?" She remained nonchalant. "You're making wild guesses, Joshua, without evidence to support your hypothesis."

He walked over to the window in two large strides. "Look, in the mud, you can clearly see a line of footsteps leading to the window," he said. "On the windowsill, there is a muddy footprint, which I deduce is the mysterious stranger. There is mud from the garden _all over_ this carpet, and there is mud on the table." He grimaced. "His scent is _all over_ this place, Marisa. His scent was all over _you_ when you came into the Hall of Serenity."

"Are you insinuating that I am having an affair with Rennac?" She snapped. She was tired from his outbursts. First, he trashed the room, then he played juvenile detective and after all that hullabaloo he accused her of having an affair?

_Bastard._

"That's exactly what I'm hoping to find out," he said coldly.

"Would it make you feel better if I said that I was?" she snapped angrily. _He's probably going to slam the door and go and find his Natasha. Just as well, I can finally have some peace and quiet. _"Since I am already having an affair, you might as well call Lord Fulrer and his daughter back and agree to marry Helen. Maybe you'll find someone who you can engage in illicit activities behind my back as well. Or do you already have someone?"

She expected him to yell at her, get mad at her and storm out of the room. She predicted a look of pure rage or outrage on his face. She believed that he would definitely leave in his anger.

But never would she ever to see his heartbroken face.

"Marisa…" He looked more than shocked, he looked thunder-struck. He looked more than sad, he looked miserable. There was not a sign of anger in his voice or expression, only a deep regret and an entrenched sorrow that seemed to have emerged from the fountain of all emotions, his heart.

_What…is wrong with him?_

Very slowly, he moved his right foot and shifted forward by a step. After a long pause, he lifted his left foot and inched forward towards her a little more. There was a wild look in eyes that bordered on desperation and misery.

Staggering, he moved till he was standing right in front of her, before he collapsed onto his knees.

Shocked, she dropped to her knees as well. _Is he unwell? He's acting in such a bizarre manner…almost as though he is ill…Is he running a fever? _She placed her hand on his forehead.

It was warm, but not burning. He was not delirious from fever.

_Is he poisoned? _There could be no other explanation for his bizarre behaviour besides the possibility that he was poisoned or sick with some mysterious ailment.

He grabbed her hand and cradled it tightly in his hands, clasping it above his heart. "Marisa…" he sighed. "Marisa…Why…" He brushed her hand with his lips lightly and tenderly. "Why…why must you do this to me…"

_He IS delirious. _A sense of fear crept into her heart. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, in the middle of a destroyed room (that looked a hurricane just tore through it) with her crazed husband. _My shamshir! It's in the outer sitting room!_

She rose to retrieve it, to protect herself just in case of emergency.

As though he saw through her intent, he clutched to her hands despairingly, clutching to her like a drowning man to a tree branch. "No…don't go…please…" he begged, pulling her down until she was kneeling down on the carpet with him. Closing his eyes, he frowned and rested his head against her chest.

_That was…what I used to do…at night…_A sense of nostalgia attacked her, flooding her with memories of warm comfortable nights snuggled against him, until that eventful day shattered everything she had. She closed her eyes.

"Please…Marisa…" He pleaded desperately, his arms around her waist in an iron grip. "Why don't you understand…why don't you try and respond…why don't you ever give me a chance…"

Reluctantly, she placed her arms around him and hugged him to her chest. He was delirious; he didn't know what he was rambling. She was enveloped by his scent once again, the same musky scent that she had fallen in love with…The tears stung in her eyes…

Everything…was so familiar…

But nothing would change…because he made his choice already…

A cold tear slid down her cheek.

She had once vowed not shed another tear him, but today, she broke her promise.

His calloused hands caressed her face gently, causing her to open her eyes and look at him. She could see the depth of emotions in his gaze, the searing pain in his heart and his disorientation at the recent happenings…and more…

There were pent-up emotions…the darkness of his eyes promised her more than she was comfortable with.

"Joshua…no…" she began, frightened by the intensity of his gaze and his complex array of feelings. She tried inching backwards, but was restrained by his arms around her waist and fell flat on her back on the carpet. "Joshua…"

"Marisa…please…" He silenced her with his feverish kissing.

There was no more room for discussion or protest.

For once, she obliged him.

* * *

She lay beside him, adjusting her sash uncertainly. The bed was still covered with feathers from his previous burst of anger.

_Why did he do that? Why does he want me when he has so many girls at his pick? What's wrong with him?_

She almost hated him a little. The tears threatened to overflow once again.

She listened to his deep breathing against the back of her neck.

_I don't want to think about this…I don't want to make the same mistake twice…I can't afford to make the same mistake twice…I'm not that much of a fool…what's his damned problem…why must he demand everything I have…I'm not in love with him anymore! Never! _

"You lied about the affair with Rennac," he said soothingly. He seemed to be back to normal. His breath tickled her neck; she refrained from squirming. "You never had any affair with anyone to begin with. Why did you lie?"

"…" Personally, she had no idea. Because she hated him and wanted revenge? To annoy him? To bruise his ego? What was her reason?

_I don't know…_

"I don't know," she confessed truthfully, a tinge of bitterness in her voice. "Stop asking me." She hated him. How would she ever face Saleh now that she had given Joshua everything she had? How would she ever lift her head again knowing that he would abandon her once he became king?

"We need to talk, Marisa," he placed a hand on waist.

She inched roughly beyond his reach, blowing at the feathers glumly. "We don't. Don't touch me."

_Please, don't touch me anymore._

"I…" he hesitated. "I'm sorry. I just lost control for one moment. I didn't know what I was doing. I think I lost it when you told me about you and Rennac." He sounded regretful.

"It's too late." She bit on her lip, trying to stop her tears from flowing.

"For what?" She couldn't see his face, but she could hear the fear in his voice.

"For everything." That was the truth. It was too late for anything. Their relationship ended here, in tears and regret.

From the beginning, it had been doomed to fail.

They didn't know anything about each other at the start and where married because of a gambling bet.

They each had their love interests, duties and other responsibilities.

They saw the world differently.

They had little in common.

He had a kid behind her back.

She saw her male friends almost everyday behind his back.

Both of them ended up just wounding each other more and more as they continued their escape in the opposite directions.

And thus, here it should end.

"Is there really no way for salvation?" he whispered.

"No," she replied without hesitation. Even if he wasn't hurt, she had been so deeply scarred mentally and physically that she was exhausted. She needed a break from all this. She just wanted to live her remaining days as princess peacefully, without any chaos, any drama, and scheming.

The tear that just flowed down her cheek would put the full stop on their relationship.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm mean, but not so evil to make Joshua marry another wife. Heck, as long as Marisa is still his legally wed wife he will have no other wife *puts foot down***

**Tired ~ snowylavendermist**


	23. Shackles of War

**Shackles of War**

_War was such an ugly world. Everyone used to fight wars, even for the smallest reasons such as 'oh, you stole one cow of mine'. But of course, those were petty wars. Wars now are driven by political ambition, by necessity, by need, by greed, by wrath, by misunderstanding...by a lot of reasons._

_And war is a shackled event. Although there is rampant evil, widespread crime-commiting and other atrocities, the truth is that ultimately war is a shackle in itself. Once you enter a war, how do you back out of a war? With the war draining your country, can you actually take care of the welfare of your people? Are your people loyal to you? Do they fight for you, or will they turn traitor last minute._

_Wars are always full of ifs. Nothing is certain until the white flag is raised on one side._

* * *

All of a sudden, Magvel was at war.

It happened innocently one day. Without warning, Grado invaded Renais through the Renais-Grado border one fine morning.

When the news arrived at breakfast, Queen Ismaire accidentally spilt a drop of her tea from her cup the saucer while Joshua choked on his scrambled eggs in alarm.

Marisa herself had been admiring the cherry buds in the garden and did not hear the news until late morning.

For a week, there was nothing but bad news. By the middle of the next week, it was reported that Grado was making inroads into Renais and its soldiers were marching straight for its capital, having bypassed and slaughtered Renais' defense troops and mechanisms with surprising ease.

Further bad news came by the start of the following week. Grado had invaded Jehanna as well, via the Western shared border.

Queen Ismaire was quick to give instructions and call the citizens to arms. Soldiers were swiftly dispatched to the area, which had already been fortified as a precaution. Lancereavers were sent by the thousands; healing staves were delivered in truckloads. Pure water was distributed to each and every soldier, and they were warned to look for each other and alert one another of a magic attack or a javelin out of the blue.

Joshua, as the Prince of Jehanna, had the duty of leading the army in battle. Together with a group of healers from the infirmary, such as Natasha and the two junior clerics whom she had overheard last year, and a group of his most trusted guards, he set off.

"Joshua, be careful," Queen Ismaire reminded again and again as Joshua saddled Winchester, who snorted and reared. "I cannot tell you enough. Those Grado soldiers are tricky, and they outnumber us. You must be careful. Be very careful _Very _careful."

"I understand, Mother," he comforted, giving Queen Ismaire a peck on her cheek. "I'll look behind my back for any unanticipated attacks."

"My queen," the captain of the guards bowed. "Never fear; we will protect the prince with our lives."

"I only fear that the lives of our people may not be enough to stop Grado's advance," Queen Ismaire sighed. "They have grown truly formidable, having had their power unchecked."

Joshua bowed to his mother once again, and came up to her. "Marisa…"

"Good luck Joshua," she said, looking up at him.

"You will be here waiting for me, won't you?" he asked softly.

She nodded, cheeks turning red. _Everyone is watching for heaven's sake! Even the cooks and the nurses! And your very own mother!_

"I'll be comforted by the thought that my wife is waiting for me back here," he continued. "I'll stay safe for you, Marisa."

_He is…so sweet sometimes._ She bit her lip. Staying beside him made it increasingly difficult for her to keep her permanent poker face. He was so emotional at times like these that his words could move everyone to tears.

"I await your safe return," she nodded.

"I'll be going then," he concluded, leaning in and gently brushing his lips against her forehead. "I'll miss you."

She watched wistfully as he hoisted himself deftly onto the saddle.

Winchester reared, and broke into a gallop. The other horses neighed and whinnied and followed suit, breaking out into a furious gallop across the grass.

They watched until the group of horses and riders disappeared from view, before retreating back into the safety of the castle.

Only then did she realize her cheeks were wet with tears.

* * *

Once Joshua left, the palace seemed empty all of a sudden.

Marisa knew most of the servants and guards were still here; and the ministers still congregated ever so often in the meeting rooms to discuss another one of their either impractical or useless battle strategies. Belle was still her personal servant; and she often saw the girl walking around. Queen Ismaire was still here, but with Joshua's departure she seemed jerkier in her usually fluid movements and spilt her tea with increasing frequency.

Things just seem different with Joshua away.

As she lay awake at night in their bed, she found herself unable to sleep unless she clutched his pillow to her. The pillow still retained some of his musky scent, and she found comfort in that scent, fooling herself into believing that he was still beside her.

_Am I not out of love with him? Why…am I pining for him?_

She found herself listless and lethargic most of the time. She spent increasing amounts of time in their room, stroking their possessions and reminiscing about their time together.

Perhaps if there had been just a twist of fate that had changed history…things would be different. Maybe they wouldn't be so cold and distant towards each other…maybe they could have been a normal couple…

She frequently opened his wardrobes and ran her hands over his silk garments. The slippery feeling of his clothes on his hands was a comfort to her, and the scent that wafted from his wardrobe calmed her down. Just to see or touch something that had once belonged to him soothed her frazzled nerves as she could not help herself but worry about his safety.

Indeed, how could one not worry when bad news kept streaming in through the messengers?

Reports of serious Jehannan defeats continually coming to the palace. The endless bad news brought many of the ministers down in the form of emotional breakdowns or illnesses, and gradually affected the Queen's appetite.

Jehanna was not weak. It was just that Grado was densely populated and they had a huge oversized army that could overpower any other country's. Even if one Jehannan soldier was as skilled as three Grado enemies, if one Jehannan was faced with ten Grado soldiers, it would definitely result in a situation where the soldiers were swarmed and defeated because they were enclosed by the enemy.

Joshua was stationed at the main post of defenses, in the middle of the length of the border. They still held on, amidst unfavourable reports, and still retained their position, insistently not allowing the Grado soldiers to pass through. She was relieved; Joshua was guarding a strategic position. If that place fell, it would open the floodgates for the Grado soldiers, and it will mean a complete and swift defeat for Jehanna.

Other places, however, were not so resilient. Many held on, but many more were captured or killed, creating loopholes in their defenses that allowed the Grado soldiers to swarm in like ants.

Initially, Queen Ismaire had attempted to plug these holes by sending reinforcements, but it soon proved useless. Once infiltrated, the Grado soldiers established themselves firmly and did not allow themselves to be dislodged. She eventually gave up that strategy and devoted the soldiers to reinforcing the positions that were still holding out, or to break the Grado soldiers' supply chain.

However, despite Jehanna's heroic efforts, it was evident that Grado had the upper hand. They were like infectious fungi, swamping the area and spreading their territory outwards in a mushrooming pattern, wiping out every form of resistance they encountered.

Fortunately, Jehanna was a mercenary state, which implied that much of the citizens were well-skilled in arms combat. As such, the Queen, the Leader of the Mercenaries, took the other route and engaged in guerilla attacks on the Grado soldiers, which proved effective in halting the supply lines. She also employed a 'scorch-earth' policy, harsh as it was, it was effective in slowing down the Grado advance by depriving them of any resources that was lost from Jehannan possession, leaving the invaders with little choice but to rely on their supply lines, already rendered undependable by guerilla soldiers.

In spite of all these battle tactics and strategies and resistance, the Grado army still managed to make its way slowly but surely towards the heart of Jehanna, towards the capital, and eventually, towards the castle.

Marisa clutched her shamshir tighter and stabbed at her imaginary target. She may be needed to defend the castle; and if she were required to, as a loyal citizen of Jehanna, she would give it her best.

"Princess Marisa!" Belle poked her head through the open doorway. "There is a guest waiting for you. He is in the Hall of Serendipity. Will you see him? He announces himself as Mister Saleh."

_Saleh!_ She replaced the robe she had been stroking and raced out towards the Hall of Serendipity.

"Saleh!" She exclaimed as the figure sitting on the couch rose to meet her.

"I heard about your husband's absence, I hope all is well in the palace," Saleh began. "The soldiers from Grado are nearly in the capital already, Marisa. You need to run."

She looked bewildered for a minute before shaking her head resolutely. "I cannot run, Saleh. If you want to run, I'm sorry but I cannot join you."

Saleh sighed bitterly. "I'm not running, Marisa, but I fear for _your_ safety. The Grado soldiers are ruthless; there are countless stories of the many atrocities that they committed as they made their way here. You, as the princess…they will not be kind towards you."

"It's a war, how could they be kind to an enemy?" She replied. "It's alright, I understand Saleh. I thank you for your concern, but I'm staying to guard the palace."

"Why don't you understand, Marisa?" Saleh cried all of a sudden. He stood up abruptly and ran a hand agitatedly through his curls. "The Grado soldiers will break you! They will rape, torture and kill you! You cannot stay here! I cannot allow you to stay here!" He clasped her to him. "Marisa, for your own safety…you must leave this place now…"

She struggled out of his embrace. "Saleh, I cannot abandon the palace," she reasoned. "I am the princess; if even the princess loses faith, what will the people do? How can I leave Queen Ismaire herself to defend the throne?"

"But it was never your responsibility in the first place!" Saleh protested. "That husband of your forced you into it, coerced you into accepting it!" He took her hands. "If it were someone else, I could hardly care less for their safety and whatnot. But it is you Marisa…and that makes a world of difference to me…" His eyes glistened. "Should something happen to you…how will I live on?"

_He…really does love me…_

_Saleh…_

_My best friend…_

There was a loud crash, the sound of rock smashing and wood disintegrating. It was followed by shrill screams and loud cries of alarm.

"It's the Grado soldiers!" Saleh paled. "But they are here already? I never noticed that they advanced this quickly…This is madness…Marisa, you have to leave now! While there is still time, escape by the back exits and run away from this place until the danger is over!"

_Run away? Far far away and wait for the war to be over?_

_Forsake her mother-in-law, Belle, her friends…Joshua?_

_Was that possible, at all?_

No.

_He who runs away lives to fight another day…_

No.

_You could always take revenge…_

Never.

_Come on…the path to freedom lies in the midst of chaotic nonsense…_

I refuse.

_Ahh…you're wavering…not so resolute anymore are you?_

No.

_I knew it. Leave. You missed the chance with Rennac and the one with Saleh. You will not miss this one and engage in foolery that does not concern you._

No. It concerns me.

_How? Because Joshua married you by chance and made you princess? That's laughable._

Because…

_Because?_

Because…

Even Saleh asked you to leave. Do you need him to be on his knees before you take his advice you stubborn mule?

Because…

_Useless nonsensical reasons of chivalry and bravery._

Because…I cannot give up the things I love so easily.

Because I cannot let my mother-in-law defend this place by herself.

Because I cannot allow Grado to take over the place I love.

Because I cannot ignore the first rule of being a swordmaster: loyalty.

Because I cannot leave my people in the lurch.

Because I cannot abandon my best friend by himself here to defend the castle.

Because I cannot forsake all those servants who will depend on me to defend them.

Because I have grown to love this place, love the people around me, love my friends, love everything around me that has been surrounding me for the past year.

And I cannot give them up so easily.

"I'm staying." There was a new resolve in her voice. "I'm staying here to protect the castle. I love this place; I love Jehanna. I will defend it with my life."

Amidst the loud noises and shrill screams, it was getting harder and harder to communicate verbally.

Saleh looked worried but nodded. "I understand, Marisa, and I respect your decision. I will fight alongside you and protect you till the end."

She smiled. "Thank you, Saleh."

There was a deafening crash that sounded as though the world was being torn apart, followed by discordant screaming and yelling and roaring.

"The door's broken down!" A maid screamed as she fled. "The door's broken down!"

Saleh leapt to his feet, withdrawing a thick tome from the depth of his cloak. "They must have used a ram, those Grado curs. They shall have a taste of my Elfire."

She nodded, unsheathing her shamshir. "Let's go." She bolted out of the door, followed closely by Saleh.

The usually immaculate palace was in a state of chaos, with vases smashed, curtains torn and tables overturned by the servants' flurry to escape from the infiltrated palace. The guards had all been relieved from their posts to fight the enemies streaming in.

A cold blast of air hit her as she ran, causing her to stop in her tracks.

"What's wrong?" Saleh asked, panting.

_Stefan._

She could hardly leave him inside there alone; in the chaos of the battle, surely someone would kill him, by chance or on purpose.

And that was if the guards hadn't killed him already in a vengeful fury.

"I need to get somebody," she replied, racing down the slippery steps. She saw Stefan, still dressed in black, standing nervously in the last cell, clutching the grills furiously.

"Thank god, princess!" He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her. "I thought everyone was going to forget about me!"

"Stand back," she ordered. Raising her shamshir, she broke the lock in one swift stroke.

Stefan kicked the metal door open effortlessly. "Thank you princess, I presume my dearest motherland invaded?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes." She threw him a pair of killing edges. "Take these and go."

He looked surprised. "You're giving me weapons? Aren't you going to kill me before I can backstab you or something?"

She frowned. "I believe in a fair fight, Stefan. Choose your allegiance and fight. If you wish to join your fellow comrades, we shall meet on the battlefield."

He nodded. "I look forward to seeing you on the battlefield in that case." He sprinted away.

"What was that?" Saleh asked when she returned.

She hesitated. She had just released a fellow prisoner, all because she was a staunch believer on the rules of swordsmanship. "Just another one of my mistakes," she replied finally.

* * *

It was absolute hysteria at the main foyer of the Jehannan palace. Through the broken gate, which now hung uselessly by its side, scores of Grado soldiers clad in grim black armour streamed in, raising their glinting weapons. Jehanna's soldiers, clad in the royal crimson armour were engaged in fierce combat with the infiltrators, trying to hold their positions by the door leading to the interior of the palace.

Swordmasters, mainly Jehannan, weaved their way through the enemies, relying on their speed to disarm and kill as many enermy soldiers as possible before they themselves were encircled and taken prisoner, if not killed. Snipers hid behind the rows of soldiers, looking for unsuspecting targets until they were speared through by the swordmasters on their killing rampages. Where normally a large size meant a good foyer, a large sized foyer now meant that even the wyvern lords could enter freely and engage in combat, spearing their targets with speed and strength while their mounts tossed a soldier into the air with a hoarse cry. Grado's army of druids were lined around the hall, concealed by their armoured comrades. From there, they worked their magic in piece, draining the soul out of the Jehannan soldiers with their dark magic. Jehanna's own sages were more robust, and they dashed around the room, reciting incantations and watching in satisfaction as they brought down another screaming wyvern. The healers trotted through the crowd, dodging whatever they could and healing their own comrades, before they were cut down by the enemies.

In short, it was chaos. Pure chaos.

Without the need for prompting, Saleh dived into the fray, flinging his tome to a specific page. Focusing his concentration, he mumbled the incantation written on the page and directed his energy at the Grado wyvern rider in the middle of the hall. Three eerie circles lit up in mid-air and dissolved into a burning sign of flame. Suddenly, the wyvern dropped the soldiers it had been holding in its mouth and reared, opening its mouth in a silent scream. The earth itself seemed to open up as flames leapt from the floor and engulfed the wyvern and its rider is a cylinder of red-hot fire. Nothing remained of the rider and his wyvern beside black ash.

_Wow. _She silently marveled at the power and skill of Saleh's anima spellcasting.

Lifting her own sword, she dashed across the field, taking out one of the Grado healers with a kick to her head. Propelled forward by the voice of the kick, she sliced the neck of one Grado soldier and slit the wrists of his sniper comrade who had been hiding behind him.

Whirling around, she dodged the spear thrown at her head and back-flipped, knocking out a druid in the process. Her feet landed precisely on the elevated banister and she sprang through the air, landing atop the wyvern's back with its rider. Fending off the frenzied attacks of the rider, she sliced him with her shamshir, then with a kick, sent the wyvern flying in pain out of the doors. She somersaulted back onto the ground just in time and eliminated another swordmaster.

Five enemies, all in one minute and she did not suffer a single scratch.

She permitted herself a second of rest and a brief satisfied smile.

Her skills had not tarnished after all.

Queen Ismaire had taken her own shamshir to join her soldiers in defending the castle. Moving with a deadly grace, she sliced her way through the enemies who surrounded her, dodging and ducking all the while. However, age still slowed down her movements, and she was gradually fatigued from the constant evasions. Seeing their chance, the Grado soldiers pressed forward.

Rapidly taking out the enemies before her, she fought her way to where Queen Ismaire was. From the corner of her eye, she could see Saleh making his way towards the queen as well, scorching whoever that was in his way.

Frustrated by the swarm of enemies between him and Queen Ismaire, Saleh reached out his hand and twisted his wrist in an elaborate gesture. A perfectly symmetrical star formed before him out of shimmering white vapour, and a line of fire rose from the ground like an angry writhing dragon, burning all those in his way.

"Your highness!" Saleh rushed through the clear passage. "Are you injured?" He pulled out a healing stave and healed the queen, before throwing setting another wall of fire against the incoming Grado soldiers.

"Thank you," Queen Ismaire panted.

"Saleh!" Marisa shouted to be heard above the din. "You cover the front, I'll cover her highness' back!"

Saleh nodded and cast another spell at an audacious young sage who had tried to cast a fireball at him, ending the life of another Grado soldier.

She turned back towards her opponents, a wall of grim-faced, black-armoured soldiers with the taste for blood.

_I am fighting for my queen. I am fighting for my country._

There was a reason why people feared her.

And these soldiers were just about to understand why.

She willed herself to run, and with her sword outstretched, she weaved through the soldiers before any of them could react. Her trusty shamshir cut through steel and flesh, but it remained as sharp and true as ever. In a flash, she returned to where she had stood just a moment ago, surveying the victims on the floor, some groaning, some still twitching, but most had already perished before they even knew it.

But as soon as they fell, another fresh wave of soldiers replaced them. And after they too fell, another group came. And another group. And another group.

It was like a never-ending procession full of Grado soldiers.

_They want to flood us with soldiers, _she thought. _Until we are tired and unable to fight, after which they will take us out._

"Your highness!" She exclaimed as a soldier thrust his lance at Queen Ismaire's back. Saleh was trapped by a circle of soldiers, and he could only do so much as to free himself. She herself was engaged in combat with five soldiers at once.

A clap of thunder, loud enough to make her drop her sword, deafened her ears and struck the lance, promptly causing it to disintegrate into ash. The soldier himself collapsed after being hit on the head with a heavy broad two-edged sword.

"We're here!" Gerik boomed, crushing his sword down on another soldier.

"Queen Ismaire…" Ewan looked at the queen in awe. "Oh!" He ducked as a soldier poked his lance at him. "Take that you nasty worm!" Poking out his tongue at the soldier, he conjured at fireball and threw it at the soldier.

Tethys was dancing, in the middle of the battle, causing many Grado soldiers to stop and watch. Their eyes slowly turned glassy, as though they were hypnotized. They froze, rooted to the spot, even as Gerik crashed through them, eliminating them one by one.

"They turned her dancing into a offensive weapon," Ewan explained, squealing in delight to be engaged in real combat. "And now she and Gerik are a team!"

Marisa nodded and slashed at the neck of the tall grey horse before her. "What?" she exclaimed as her shamshir was blocked by a silver lance.

"We meet again, _whore_." The man atop the horse nodded at her, before driving his lance straight towards her heart.

"Fulrer," she snarled, dodging his lance. She knew that there was something fishy about this man, and today his true identity was revealed.

He was little more than a traitor bought over by Grado.

"I'll see you die in my hands today," he sneered scornfully, pulling on the reins of his horse.

The grey horse reared and brought its hooves crashing down to the ground. If she had not managed to back flip out of the way, she would have been crushed.

They sparred; she with her shamshir, he waving his lance, trying to find a weak spot. His lance flew towards her arm, and she leapt sideways onto the ground to evade it. When she turned over, he loomed over her, proud and victorious. "Prepare to die, whore." He raised his lance high above his head.

_Damn, I will hate to die now._

She racked her brains, hunting rapidly for an escape.

Rennac's needles!

Slipping a hand into her belt, she took three of the pack of needles concealed within. She took careful aim at his triumphant smile, at his glinting beady eyes, at his disgusting face and flung them towards him.

One missed, but one hit his neck, and the other hit him right on the forehead.

With a cry, he toppled from his horse onto the ground. With tortured screams, he clutched at his wounds, scratching at his flesh, which were already beginning to swell.

She picked herself up slowly.

_So this is what Rennac was talking about when he meant secret weapons…it works in a pretty cool way…_

A blue light enveloped Lord Fulrer, and he stopped scratching and screaming. His face slowly relaxed into a look of peace. The swellings grew smaller instead of larger.

_What? _She reeled in shock. _Healers._

She glanced around rapidly, raising her sword just in time to block off a blow from Lord Fulrer's silver sword. She saw it. At the far end of the room, standing in one obscure corner blocked by a wall of druids, was Helen. She was as immaculate as ever, and as serene as ever, but she held a physic staff in her hand, and her mouth was mumbling prayers.

"Ewan!" She shouted hoarsely, deflecting another blow from Lord Fulrer and making a cut on his wrist, which was instantly healed by the blue light.

"What?" Ewan shouted back, dodging a flux attack.

"That girl over there, with the golden hair. Kill her!" She replied, slashing at Lord Fulrer viciously.

"Oh? She's pretty!" Ewan cried.

"EWAN!" She shouted in exasperation as she warded off another one of Lord Fulrer's crazed swings. This man was out to kill.

Flashing her a guilty look, Ewan withdrew a bolting tome and murmured the incantation.

Lightning enveloped the hall from nowhere and with a cry, Helen fell, consumed by the spark.

The blue light disappeared.

Lord Fulrer cried out in horror and outrage.

She forced him to a corner.

"Whore," he spat, even though he was at death's door.

"Then die knowing that a _whore_ killed you," she snarled, slicing her shamshir across his jugular artery.

A guttural choking sound rose from his throat and he clutched at his neck as he slowly fell to his knees and toppled on the floor. Even in death, he wore an extremely disturbing expression contorted by rage, prejudice, hatred and guilt.

_Cheats never prosper; never do traitors._

"Marisa!" Saleh shouted. "The queen asks to leave!"

She nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, one of their old signals used when they went on missions. Throwing a disdainful look at Lord Fulrer's corpse, she back-flipped, landed on the overhead banister, swooped down again and eliminated an enemy swordmaster and left the fray.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**I'm not good at fighting scenes. Sorry, folks.**

**BTW, to answer the flurry of queries I received, YES, THEY DID THE DEED. They consummated their marriage, but they are MARRIED. XDDD It makes sense right?**

**You know...like Eliwood+Wife=Roy...Hector+Wife=Lilina...Pent+Louise=Klein&Clarine**

**XD**

**Love ~ snowylavendermist**


	24. Shackles of Sanctity

****

**Shackles of Sanctity**

* * *

"This way," Queen Ismaire directed them, pointing to a dark corridor. Without delay, all of them turned into the unknown nondescript dark corridor. The sound of their feet against the wooden boards made light scraping noises, and their low breathing echoed in the darkness.

"This place is creepy," Ewan whimpered, conjuring a fireball to light up the way.

"Ewan, what did I say about fire-based spells?" Saleh ask sternly. Ewan immediately put out the fireball and hung his head guilty. "No fire spells to be used in wood-based houses right?"

Ewan nodded. "Sorry Master Saleh."

"Here," Queen Ismaire whispered. She stopped before a blank grey stone wall, weathered with age, and icy cold to the touch. "Come here, Marisa."

She went forward immediately.

"Place your hand on the wall and keep it there, palm facing the wall," she instructed. "Yes, do you feel anything?"

She frowned. _What the heck is my hand supposed to do? Weave some hocus pocus things into the wall and make it 'open sesame'?_ "It's…turning a little warm," she said lamely. If she remembered correctly, the heat transfer from her palm to the wall would render the wall warming theoretically. Nothing to be surprised about.

There was no response at first. However, there was a gradual rumbling sound which became louder and louder.

"What?" she cried in astonishment.

The wall started moving. It shifted towards the left, withdrawing and leaving an open hole just large enough for one person to walk through.

"How did I…" she stared at her hand in amazement. It still looked normal, and it certainly felt normal.

Queen Ismaire smiled wisely. "This stone door can only be opened by the touch of a member of the Jehannan royalty." She smiled at Marisa's bewildered expression. "That means it recognizes you as the royal princess, Marisa. It accepts you."

"But…" _The blood flowing in my veins are not noble blood. How can this door…respond to my touch? Besides, I came in by sheer chance and I am going to be booted out once this is over, so this door still recognizes me?_

"Come," Queen Ismaire gestured. "We must not waste any more time." She led the way into the stone cavern, climbing down the numerous slippery stairs.

Marisa had little difficulty keeping her balance despite the water and algae on the stone steps, but Ewan kept slipping and would have fallen if not for Saleh's hold on his arm, and Gerik had to hold on to the walls at the side to prevent himself from falling.

"Hasn't anyone used these blasted things in years?" he complained after nearly tripping and tumbling into Tethys.

"It is probably opened…" Queen Ismaire calculated. "Once every thirty years? Whenever the new ruler ascends the throne, the Sacred Twins and Sacred Stone are taken out of this cavern."

"So we are going to retrieve the legendary Sacred Twins and Sacred Stone," Saleh breathed. "I never thought…that I would get such a privilege in my lifetime…"

Queen Ismaire laughed. "Not many do."

They went deeper and deeper down, until finally they reached a large cavern. There was the sound of trickling water, and an eerie red light lit up the cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites grew and extended from the ground and ceiling.

"Oww…" she heard Gerik complain as he bumped his head against a stalactite. "Blasted cave limestone things!"

Queen Ismaire's lips curled as she led them towards the stone column in the middle of the cavern, the source of the red light. "The Sacred Twins and Sacred Stone are here."

"Here?" She squinted at the luminous column, trying to find a crack or a crevice where the Sacred Twins could be stored secretly. She ran her hand over the column of stone. It was smooth, and cold to the touch. But there was scarcely a crack anywhere. "Here?" she asked again.

Queen Ismaire nodded. "Stand back, everyone." Waving her sword, she smashed her sword against the stone column with tremendous force. The entire stone cavern seemed to shake and tremble with the force, but the stone column held.

"Ehhh…" Gerik eyed the cavern warily. "Your highness, you sure this is a good idea? This place seems to be on the verge of collapsing into limestone chips."

Queen Ismaire ignored him and brought her sword against the stone for another time, causing another tremour. Frowning, she swung back her sword and slammed it into the stone column once again.

The section of the stone column exploded, sending bits of pebbles and chipped rocks flying like shrapnel onto the floor, but none of the sharp rocks hit any of them. A empty section was revealed in the rock, the source of the red glow. In the empty section were three items, suspended in air as though they were floating in a viscous liquid.

The first was a medallion with a chain of solid gold. There were intricate rune carvings decorating the edge of the medallion. In the middle of the medallion was a solid ruby-red jewel, giving off an unearthly crimson glow. The gem was flawless; it sparkled brighter than a thousand lights. Its cutting was perfect; each facet was perfectly shaped and precisely cut to attain the maximum shine possible. It radiated a form of energy that was at once strengthening and binding at the same time.

"Is that…" Tethys gasped.

"The Sacred Stone of Jehanna," Queen Ismaire confirmed. "Five continents with five different jewels, all set into a wearable piece of some form and craft. Renais possesses the sapphire blue gem, split and set into two bracelets, known as the Solar and Lunar bracelets. Those are constantly worn by Lord Ephraim and Lady Eirika. I hope that Grado has not managed to capture the Renais Sacred Stone. Frelia's Sacred Stone takes the form of a emerald green jewel, and it was crafted into a belt, securely kept in their stronghold. Rausten's gem is unique, for it is a diamond, and it possessed no impurities or colour. Their wise emperor had it made into a royal crown. It is currently worn by the emperor of Rausten. Jehanna's Sacred Stone was, as you can see, made into an amulet of some form, that can slipped over the neck."

"What about Grado's?" Saleh questioned, tense.

"Grado's Sacred Stone takes the form of a black gem. Some say it was a black pearl; others claim that it was merely a large piece of jet or peridot. It was set as the top of their scepter, which is carried by their current king. Grado's gem has always been different from the rest, and some say that is the reason why Grado has never liked the other countries; they feel inferior that their gem was not a precious stone, but rather a semi-precious stone. And thus, they seek to constantly prove their worth and power." Queen Ismaire sighed. "Narrow-minded fools." She took the second item, a tome, from the cavity.

"Excalibur…" Saleh murmured in awe, staring unwaveringly at the tome.

The book was thick, and it had no doubt been around for a long time. However, there was not the faintest hint of weathering and age on the tome. The binding was intricate, and the cover was pristine. Gold patterns were inlaid onto the cover, forming a wind-like shape that promised power and speed.

She inhaled. The tome perfumed the air around it with a divine flavour.

"The power this contains is said to be legendary. However, for centuries, there has not been a single anima magic user in the entire royal family. Fortunately, Sacred Twins do not deteriorate with time, or this time may sadly have disintegrated waiting for someone to understand its runic language," Queen Ismaire said. "Marisa, put the tome in the pocket of your robe and put the amulet around your neck."

"Me?" she asked, surprised. _Me? To wear the Sacred Stone and carry the Sacred Twins? Won't they strangle me because I am not royal or something?_

"Anyone can hold a Sacred Item, Marisa," Queen Ismaire replied smoothly as she retrieved the last item. As soon as she took out the sword, there was another rumbling sound, and the stone column closed itself, almost like healing a wound, and became a solid smooth column once more.

"And this," Queen Ismaire unsheathed the sword. It made a fine ringing noise. "This is Audhulma, the legendary Ice Blade." She sheathed it again and gave it to Marisa. "Take this and carry it on your belt."

"But why me?" She could hardly understand Queen Ismaire's intentions. Shouldn't she, the queen, carry the Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stones?

"Marisa, obey me," Queen Ismaire commanded. "You are better skilled with a sword. You will have a better time fending off the enemies. The Sacred Twins and Sacred Stone must be kept safe at all times, and they must remain in Jehannan hands. If they fall into others' hands, Jehanna has fallen."

"I…" She hesitated. She could not carry such a heavy responsibility. What if she lost them or anything? Would she not then be carelessly throwing away Jehanna's fate? What if she was defeated? What if she was killed?

"Marisa, do you doubt my judgment?" Queen Ismaire asked sternly.

_Yes. _

"No." She sighed.

"Good, then carry the Sacred Items as I instruct you to," the queen continued. "Keep the amulet tucked underneath your shirt. No one must know that you are the one carrying the Sacred Twins and the Sacred Stone. Or else they will all try and attack you."

_That is very comforting…considering that Audhulma is just like my shamshir in terms of length and width, I am pretty certain that Grado soldiers are all blind and cannot see this elaborate jeweled blade hanging from my belt._

"Why not keep these things here?" She asked. "If the door can only be opened by a member of the Jehannan royal family, the Grado soldiers cannot get in, and thus the Sacred Items are safer here, right?"

"My dear child," Queen Ismaire sighed. "The door can only be opened normally be a member of the Jehannan royal family. However, if you use a ram and slam it, it will collapse eventually just like our gate did. It harbours enchantment; but enchantment can only do so much in the face of the strength of a legion of soldiers. This place is not a secret. They will find it eventually. It is safer to carry it with us. Come, we must proceed to the throne room to guard the royal throne."

They climbed up the winding stone steps once again.

"Marisa." Queen Ismaire grasped her hand. "The reason why I made you carry these national treasures is because I trust you. I have great faith in your ability; I have greater faith in your loyalty. I am the queen; they will most likely target me. I may not survive this-"

"Your highness!" She protested.

"No, Marisa! Listen to me!" The queen dismissed her protest swiftly. "Listen! Grado's forces are not to be underestimated. They are a force to be reckoned with. I don't know how long we can continue to hold out. Given our current rate of casualties, the most we can afford is a few hours. That is if no breakthrough has occurred and there is continuous fighting. I regret that I deployed too many soldiers to the border, but I had little idea of the lightning tactics Grado would use. It is my folly, and I will pay for it. But Jehanna must not fall because of their queen's mistake!" She lowered her voice. "If we are defeated, I want you to run. Go to the stables and saddle Amber. Joshua taught you to ride? Good. Ride for the border and find Joshua at the lower delta of the Pearl River. He will be there. Take these to him, and help him in his fight. Only then may Jehanna survive. Do you understand me?"

She nodded dumbly. She felt as though a heavy burden had just been shoved onto he shoulders. Saddle Amber? Pearl River? Give Joshua the Sacred Twins and Stone? _Gosh…how can I ever do this…_

"Do you promise, Marisa?" Queen Ismaire demanded.

_Owww…her nails are digging into my arm…_

"Yes, your highness, I understand." She winced as Queen Ismaire finally released her vice-like grip on her arm.

They walked in silence.

"Your highness," Saleh questioned. "Is it true that the Sacred Twins were once part of a whole?"

Queen Ismaire stopped abruptly, causing Marisa to nearly bump into her. "Why yes. Actually, it was recorded in the historical archives that each pair of Sacred Twins were once a whole, but they eventually split into two. How did you know about this, young man?"

Saleh blushed. "I was reading up about weaponry fusion and the author mentioned that it may be possible to combine the Sacred Twins to form the original weapon. Do you think it is possible, my queen?"

Queen Ismaire laughed. "I do not disbelieve it, but nobody has ever thought about it before. The Sacred Twins are rarely even taken out in the first place, and when they are, it is usually for ceremonial purposes. No one has ever _used_ the Sacred Twins as a weapon."

Saleh continued. "They said that there is some riddle to be solved?"

Queen Ismaire nodded. "The riddle is written on the Sacred Stone itself, but it is complex, and riddled with complications. No on has yet deciphered what is the true meaning of the riddle."

Marisa lifted up the Sacred Stone and stared at the carvings on the side that was inlaid into the amulet. It read:

_One a sword like the swiftest falcon,_

_The other a tome, air moving without return._

_Once a bud they split in noble failing,_

_Shards of a whole, a nation's calling._

_Pay a heavy price, if you wish so dear,_

_The requisites fulfilled the whole awaits to appear._

_A drop of Heracles' blood, breaks the iron cuff_

_Another drop, and away with a huff_

Some wisdom of Sir Kai's, even it be gruff

_Too much of one, and things may vanish in a puff._

_Hand of the saint, wields the golden spindle,_

_Weaving a tapestry of magic, for the golden cradle._

_It matters not the colour of the blood,_

_Blue is gentle, while red is a flood._

_What matters is the traitorous quality,_

_A question of the hearts' beating loyalty._

"Okay…I think that's written in Greek," Gerik blinked.

"Hmm…it does make some references to ancient folklore, although it is very imprecise," Saleh analysed. "They mention Sir Kai, a Knight of the Round Table. But some wisdom of his? Sir Kai was never known for his wisdom…what could this mean?" He frowned. "Neither did they reveal how exactly do you 'unlock' this puzzle even after you do fulfill the requirements. This is very puzzling."

"No doubt it is," Queen Ismaire agreed. "Or else our forefathers would have long since pieced together our lost Sacred weapon."

"Maybe you can only use it during emergencies," Ewan quipped. "You know, like those fantasy stories when the hero activates the secret trigger in the nick of time and defeat the bad enemies!"

Everyone laughed.

"Ewan!" Tethys smiled. "There's a reason why these are fantasy stories and not reality!"

"Alright, and we are here at the top again-" Queen Ismaire turned and smiled. "Woah!"

Marisa reached out and attempted to grab the queen's hand, but an arm twisted swiftly around the queen's neck and another arm shot out with a dagger, pointing straight at the queen's chest, right above her heart.

"I have been waiting for you," Queen Ismaire's captor smiled.

"Belle?" Marisa could hardly believe her eyes to see her trusted maidservant holding the queen hostage. "Are you-What are you doing? Are you possessed or berserked?"

Belle grinned, revealing her canine teeth. "Neither, I am very sane, thank you very much." She tightened her grip around the queen's neck. "I have an offer to trade her life with you."

_She looks the same…yet so different…she's…a spy for Grado? _"Who are you?" Marisa asked coldly, gripping the hilt of her shamshir.

"I am still Belle, princess, your handy-dandy little personal maidservant waiting for your every beck and call," Belle mocked. "Just that now, with my comrades infiltrating into your pathetic castle, I can drop that façade."

_Traitor. _"You betrayer," she spat.

"No sense of honour and shame!" Gerik bellowed.

"To think I treated you well," she said bitterly.

"Making use of Marisa's kindness," Tethys shook her head angrily.

"Deceiving everyone around you," Saleh added, frowning heavily.

"Bitch!" Ewan shouted.

Belle laughed. "You may say all you like, but the victory is mine. The queen is in my hands, and if you want her to continue living peacefully in her pathetic hole of a country, put down all your weapons!"

Nobody moved.

Belle flared and brought the tip of the dagger closer to the queen's heart.

"Put them down or she dies!" she cried furiously.

Tethys stood motionless, having no weapons on her. Then Ewan dropped his tomes. Gerik followed suit, placing his sword onto the ground. Saleh hesitated, but when Belle tightened her grip on the queen's neck and Queen Ismaire made a choking noise, he too dropped his tomes onto the ground.

She stood, staring at Belle defiantly.

"You really don't believe that I can kill your queen happily in one stroke and end her miserable existence?" Belle whispered, shifting her grip so that the blade with directly against the queen's white pale neck. "All I have to do is make a small nick, right here with my dagger, and there will be blood. There will be lots of blood from her jungular artery, and she will bleed to death, slowly and painfully. Can you bear to know that your queen died because of your defiance, Princess?"

She hesitated. Then slowly, she dropped her shamshir to the ground, flinching as it made a steely noise against the floor.

"Your daggers, Princess, don't forget those daggers in your belt," Belle urged. "I have been your maidservant for the past year; I know all the tricks you have up your sleeve."

_Damn, those were my backup plan._ She bit her lip, but detached the daggers and let them fall freely down to the ground to join her shamshir.

"Perfect!" Belle exclaimed in sick euphoria. "Now we can discuss the terms of our trade!"

"You're sick! You're twisted! You're a psychopath-" Gerik shouted.

"Shut up you fool," Belle hissed, or I will jab this dagger into your neck. All of you, stay out of this. This is between my mistress and I only. Now Princess, I have this deal for you. I release the queen, and let you and your company go safely with your weapons intact. But I _want the Sacred Items._"

Her hands flew protectively to the Sacred Stone and Audhulma. "No." Queen Ismaire had made her promise to protect these with her life. There was no way she could give them to a psychopath from Grado.

"You would bear to see your queen die?" Belle threatened, holding the blade directly against the Queen's neck.

"Marisa! My life is not important! Protect the-" Queen Ismaire stifled a cry of pain as Belle pressed the blade into her neck as a warning, making a small nick.

"Shut up! I told you to stay out of this!" Belle snarled. "Princess Marisa, are you really not going to give me the Sacred Stone and the Sacred Twins, even as your mother-in-law lies in my mercy?"

"I am very certain you are the last person whom I should give them to," she replied smoothly, tightening her hold on the hilt of Audhulma.

"Oh, you are very certain?" Belle questioned again.

"_Very_ certain." She smiled icily.

Belle laughed maniacally again. "Oh, princess Marisa, you are the world's biggest fool in all truths!"

_What the heck is wrong with her? If she wants these, she should pick up her dagger and fight, not stand there, take hostages, laugh and throw insults._

"Do you remember, Princess, how all of them treated you?" Belle smiled nastily. "You were bought into the palace as the prince's wife, Princess. _Bought _with a chest of gold and silver That makes you nothing more than a cheap woman, doesn't it?"

She clenched her fists tightly at her sides and sneered.

"And after you came into the palace, how were things?" Belle continued. "Everyone seemed subservient to you, but did they actually show you any respect? Did they make any attempt to make your life comfortable? Did they even _care_ whether you were there in the first place?"

_She's doing this on purpose, Marisa. Ignore her. You must ignore her._

"And then what happened? The oh-so-faithful prince had an affair, with the cleric Natasha in the medics room!" Belle taunted.

"What?" Gerik roared in anger. "I'll kill him! That heartless-"

"Watch your mouth!" Queen Ismaire snapped. "Don't dirty my son's name!"

"Oh, but I didn't dirty it, my queen," Belle replied. "Your son did it himself. Prince Joshua was having an affair behind the princess' back with Natasha. _Everyone _knew it. It was common knowledge. Marisa herself knows about it. She saw the box of love letters filled with accusing evidence."

There was a stiff silence.

"Is it true?" Saleh demanded. "Marisa, tell me, is it true? You condoned his faithlessness? Tell me!"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She nodded.

"How could you allow him, Marisa?" Even Tethys was shocked. "That…that's just unacceptable behaviour and you allowed it?"

"She didn't have a choice," Belle answered in her place. "Did you, Princess? No, she had hardly any power in the palace, because she was never given the due respect, the privilege of power, or the freedom to oppose. She was a pawn, only a lowly _pawn_ in their entire scheme of politics."

She shook her head. It was painful to admit the truth; it was even more painful to hear the truth from another's point-of-view.

"How did it feel like being a pawn, princess?" Belle laughed. "Was it pleasant? Everyday, manipulated by their schemes and interests, was that what drove you to delirium when your father died? Or was that what made you mistake digitalis for your sleeping pills, and sodium selenate for your headache pills?"

_You. _She was the maniac who switched her pills. She was the one who switched the containers and nearly killed her. _You._

"I was helping you, Princess," Belle shrugged. "Better off being dead than another's puppet, right? Your husband cheats on you and bought you like how one would buy a pig in the marketplace. Your mother-in-law would sacrifice your status, reputation and heart just to get another daughter-in-law to bear a child. Your Casanova drops in here and there but is only interested in your money. You have friends, but you cannot be with them. The servants are belligerent. The guards are defiant. You are manipulated like a puppet at a theatrical show. Is your life not miserable enough? Why do you want to add onto your burden? Give me the Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins, and I will help you escape this hell."

_She's…right. I was nothing more than a pawn. I knew this a long time ago, but I had no alternate avenue…what do I do? _The Sacred Twins felt heavy hanging from her. The Sacred Stone seemed to weigh a ton around her neck. _Such heavy responsibilities…thrust upon me by someone who doesn't even care about me…_

"That's a lie-" Queen Ismaire began before being choked into submission by Belle. She closed her eyes and panted.

"The Grado Empire will be glorious," Belle said enticingly. "You could always join now. Prince Lyon is forgiving; he will not care that you are the Princess of Jehanna. He will welcome you to his kingdom; he will give you a second chance. No one will ever manipulate or imprison you anymore. You will be your own person."

_My own person? When had I ever been my own person? When I was born, I was trained to repay my father's debts. Then I was bought by Joshua as his bride. I obeyed everyone in the palace…against my own willingness, against my own decisions. It is time. I need a part of me back._

Unknowingly, she took a step forward.

Belle's eyes glittered with triumph. "Yes Princess," she continued. "Think of all the happy times you could have. Prince Lyon will reward you; you can have your life back. No more obeying orders; no more annoying mother-in-laws; no one forcing you to do things you don't want to; no more assassinations; no more death threats; no more espionage. All these can be yours."

She took another step.

Despair was written in every line of Queen Ismaire's face. She opened her mouth in a wordless cry of desperation.

"Come to me, Princess," Belle called. "Come to me and be free. Come to me and you will be rewarded with your hearts' desire. Come to me and no more binds."

_Yes, no more binds._

"Come to me and there will be no strings tied."

_Yes, no more stings tying me back._

"There will be no more pain…"

_Good, I don't like pain._

"…no more shackles…"

_Yes._

"No! Marisa!" A weight threw himself onto her body, nearly knocking her down. "You cannot be bewitched by her words!"

"Saleh!" She hissed. "Get off me! You don't know what I have been through!" She pushed him roughly onto the ground. "You don't know how I have craved for my freedom this past year. I won't, I cannot let myself live this way anymore."

"Marisa!" He prepared to launch himself at her again.

Without thinking, she unsheathed the legendary Audhulma in a blinding flash of light, bright enough to make everyone look away for an instant. The hilt was cold to the touch, and the blade was sharp and refined. "Saleh, you are my best friend," she said coldly. "Don't stop me." She swung the blade around. "All of you. Keep away."

"Yes…" Belle hissed greedily. She pushed Queen Ismaire against the wall roughly, out of her hold. Her hands were outstretched, fingers itching for the sword. Her eyes glittered with greed and victory. "Give that to me. Come here and give it to me."

The blade was flaming with an icy fire in her hands. She could hardly tell whether it was cold or hot, only that it radiated a sense of power she had never experienced before. The blade was sleek, and a life seemed to pulse through the metal, making it seem as though it was a _who_ and not a _what_.

She held the sword flat against her palms obediently. The Sacred Stone around her neck scorched her neck. The tome seemed to be tearing a hole through the pocket of her robe.

"Yes…nearer…" Belle could hardly contain the euphoria in her voice.

She moved forward mechanically.

"Nearer…"

_My freedom. My destiny. My life._

_I want them back._

Belle's face loomed as she moved nearer and nearer.

_I want them back._

****

**_

* * *

_**

Author's Note:

I understand that in the GBA version, everything was quite different, like the Rausten Sacred Stone was in their holy temply etc, but just for the sake of the story, I had to make a bit of changes. XD Hope that's all right with everyone.

~snowylavendermist


	25. Shackles of Mortality

**Shackles of Mortality**

_Everyone, is unfortunately mortal. Almost everyone that is. Unless you happen to be a fairy, Merlin, or another of those deities, or you possess the philosoher's stone, you are mortal. _

_And with death, you really lose a lot of things. You lose your family, your friends, your loved one, your significant other, your goals, your ambitions, your identity...you become another member of the legions of people called 'the deceased'._

_Is that really a worthy price to pay for an early death?_

_Maybe._

* * *

"Nearer…" Belle hissed, moving closer.

Marisa's hands trembled. The sword was burning her flesh, as though it was protesting vehemently about her intentions. The amulet seemed to be constricting her throat. The tome was scorching against her skin through the thin fabric of the robe.

Reluctantly, she stopped her advance.

"What are you doing?" Belle asked angrily. "Come, come. We had an agreement right? Your freedom and no more schemes for the Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins. Do you want them? Yes? If you still desire them, give those things to me. Come, and you will get what you deserve."

She resumed her slow jerky steps.

"Yes…come closer…" Belle rubbed her hands in anticipation. "You will give them to me, and you will get your hearts' desire, the thing you truly desire…"

_My hearts' desire? What…what does my heart desire?_

"Exactly, you will get what you truly want, Princess?" Belle nodded.

_What I truly want?_

Once upon a time, what she truly wanted was nothing more than a whole family, her father, her mother and her, in their mansion. When she grew older, she became idealistic. She wanted to be the best swordmaster in Magvel. When she grew up, she understood the realities of the world, and wished for her father's gambling addiction to be stopped. When she entered the palace on the first day, she wished only for herself to leave.

_But now? What do I want now?_

_Only you yourself knows the answer. _That was what her father had said. _Only I will know the answer…_

"What do you want?" Belle asked.

_What do I want?_

_Jewels? Gold? A house? Her friends? Peace? To be the most brilliant swordmaster? What do I want? _

The answer was deeply buried; she knew it all along, but she would never admit it. _What do I want? _Is this the time to awaken her awareness of her heart's desire? She could hardly know. There were so many temptations; so many seductions; so many things she wanted.

But all of them paled in comparison to that one heart's desire.

And the answer was frightfully simple.

And terribly painful.

_I want…_

_I want…_

_I…_

She was standing right before Belle, a vacant look in her eyes. She was not even aware of that, until Belle reached for the sword.

"Give it to me, dear Princess," Belle said in triumph. "And I will give you what you desire…"

_What I desire…_

Amidst the shrill shouts of her friends and the desperate cries coming from Queen Ismaire, she lifted the sword.

In Belle's eyes were victory and betrayal.

_Traitor._

With a heavy swing, she stabbed Audhulma deep into Belle's chest.

Blood spurted.

Belle's eyes popped out slightly, like a frog's. Her mouth opened in shock and horror, but no words came out. Her lips trembled slightly as her knees shook. Slowly, she collapsed onto the ground, the life drained out of her.

_You will never be able to give me what I truly desire._

She felt surge of power as Audhulma relished in the taste of blood against its blade. The cold metal absorbed the red blood staining the blade, and the blade was clean once again.

There was a tense silence.

"Wow…" Ewan said finally, breaking the silence. "Cool, Marisa!" He punched the air with his fist.

Queen Ismaire was close to crying tears of relief. "Marisa…oh Marisa…" she wept. "I believed for one terrible moment that you really believed that psychopath's words and you were really going to hand them to her.

"Marisa, I apologise for grabbing you like that just now," Saleh apologized. "I was trying to stop you, but it appears that my fears are unfounded."

Perhaps it would be more prudent to not reveal that she had, for the better half of the time, wanted to actually give the Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins to Belle.

"Come!" Queen Ismaire dried her tears and gestured towards the corridor. "Pick up your weapons; we must hurry to the throne room."

Nodding, they hurried down the corridor.

* * *

The throne room had already been infiltrated when they arrived, with the Jehannan soldiers desperately trying to prevent Grado soldiers from entering and eliminating those who had already entered at the same time.

"Marisa! Take your friends and cover the entrances!" Queen Ismaire shouted as she whipped out her sword against a swordmaster who had broken in.

Nodding, Gerik and Tethys went to guard the left door, while Ewan and followed Saleh to assist the soldiers fighting at the right door.

As she headed towards the main door, the double doors made of heavy oak and gilded with gold plating, she could feel Audhulma burning in its scabbard, thirsting for more blood and action.

_No, _she instructed silently. _Not now._

With one last faint tremble, the legendary sword cooled.

Unsheathing her trusty shamshir, she cried out as she sliced through a druid who had been in the middle of reciting a spell. As she landed, she saw the ground beneath her beginning to heat up, and an eight-point star glowed on the ground, illuminating her feet.

_Uh oh. _

Somersaulting just in time before a spinning vortex of black magic appeared, she kicked the tome out of the druid's hands and sliced the spine of the tome into two.

There was a terrible scream from the book as it disintegrated, leaving a musky scent and a black smoking form. Paralysed with fear and defenseless without his tome, the druid was an easy target for her.

_I shall go take out the druids. They seem to be the ones who are giving our soldiers the trouble._

Slitting another Grado soldier's throat, she weaved her way forward into the crowd of enemies. A general blocked her path; she executed a perfect silencer that left him on the ground lifeless. An assassin tried to stop her advance; she pitted her skills against him and won easily, but unfortunately the assassin was not alive to see the outcome of their fight.

Soldiers, generals, swordmasters, paladins…all of them blocked her path, and all of them fell one by one. She was dirty from the blood that splattered onto her when she cut down another enemy, and she suffered numerous minor scratches and cuts while fighting, both from her opponents and through the chaotic waving of weapons.

The Grado soldiers must had been warned about the vulnerability of their back ranks, for they built a solid wall, theoretically impregnable, and they sought at all costs to stop her advance.

But while they were determined to stop her, she was determined to persist. Their back ranks were their star players: their archers, snipers, healers and druids. If she could destroy their back ranks, it would leave their front without support and in an unfavourable situation of one-to-one combat. Since the Jehannan soldiers were indubitably more experienced, Grado would suffer heavier losses.

Spurred by the thought, she lifted her sword and pushed through with greater effort.

_Consider this as my form of apology, for nearly giving away the Jehannan Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins to the enemy just now._

Finally, with a final push and the death of the last swordmaster, she was through. She now faced what was a crowd of healers, snipers and druids all staring mutely at her, surprised that she had pushed through.

Without wasting anytime, she willed herself into a fast sprint through the crowd, sword outstretched in her hand and blade facing the enemies. The druids wore no armour, just baggy black robes, and the healers wore starched cotton robes. The snipers were harder, for they wore leather armour, but her shamshir could even cut through metal, how hard was leather?

She moved through their ranks in a true Marisa fashion, appearing nothing more than a crimson flash to the naked eye. They would die not knowing what had hit them, and they would die before they could even draw their bow or open their tomes.

She stopped just in time to stop herself from bumping into something. It was large and solid, made of grey matter pieced together like a Frankenstein monster. It opened its sightless eyes and roared through its gaping mouth. In its hand, it held a lethal looking shamshir, just like hers.

She grinned. A phantom.

The summoner was indeed behind, a scrawny looking youth with a look of hatred and concentration.

_If I can kill the summoner…_She leapt away just in time as the shamshir swooshed across where her head had been. _That was close._

Dodging the phantom's swings, she stabbed her shamshir into neck and pulled out.

To her surprise, the phantom stood there, without a scratch to prove that her sword had entered its body. Taking advantage of her shock, the phantom swung its shamshir forward.

She ducked just in time, but the shamshir cut into the flesh of her arm. Biting back a cry of pain, she focused and swung her shamshir to deflect its attack.

Blue light enveloped her, and she could feel her nerves tingling pleasantly. She recognized the pleasant feeling of being healed.

Separated from her by a dozen enemies, Saleh tucked the heal stave back into his belt and gave her an encouraging smile.

She returned the favour, before slicing a hole in the phantom's abdomen with renewed strength, watching in satisfaction as it disintegrated into grey ash.

"Cut off their heads in one stroke!" Saleh shouted above the cacophony. "It's faster!"

She nodded, and prepared to face the trembling summoner.

* * *

The battle for the throne room dragged on without a decisive winner. Grado's soldiers heavily outnumbered Jehanna's, but their casualties were of staggering numbers. Both armies were slowing down in their attack and defense, tired from fighting for so long, but neither was willing to back down.

"Halt!" There was a loud roar, followed by the deafening screech of a wyvern. The Grado soldiers parted to as a large hero, carrying a silver sword, walked down the bloodied corridor, wearing a smug grin. In the air, a colossal wyvern flew past, carrying a wyvern lord who wore a bored expression.

The duo walked directly into the throne room, protected by a ring of Grado soldiers. "Queen Ismaire! Our prince sends his utmost regards that you are, surprisingly, still alive. He has sent Valter and I, Caellach, to ask you to surrender before your country is annihilated." The hero said. He looked over at Marisa and gave her a wolfish grin. "Say…doesn't she look familiar? This little beauty…Princess huh?"

Valter yawned, toying with his silver lance and spear. "Isn't she the daughter of that gambling addict who used to borrow money from us in the Jehannan gambling dens? She's married to Prince Joshua?"

"Damn," Caellach smirked, eyeing Marisa. "My ex-friend caught himself a beauty without telling me. He didn't even share!" He guffawed at his own crudeness.

"Say whatever you want," Valter looked bored. "I still prefer that Eirika of Renais…such an innocent little maiden just waiting for me…I can hardly wait to get my hands on her. Well Queen Ismaire, would you like to surrender or would you like to perish and surrender after that?"

Queen Ismaire glanced coldly at the pair. "We will never surrender Jehanna to Grado's evil intentions."

Caellach nudged Valter. "Well then, seems like we need to do something to make them comply. You take the queen, I'll deal with the princess. Maybe if we do it well, Prince Lyon will give me Joshua's wife as a little reward."

Marisa grimaced at the hero roaring with laughter at his perversions. Her stomach churned in disgust. Incensed, she lifted her shamshir and dashed forward, slashing at the hero.

Her shamshir was deflected with such speed and force that she was nearly thrown backwards if she had not kept her balance.

"Look, kitty has claws!" Caellach laughed nastily as he swung his heavy silver sword at her.

She frowned as she leapt away just in time to avoid his blade. Around them, chaos and resumed and Grado and Jehannan soldiers were lunging at each other's throats again.

She struck out her blade and he turned, but not fast enough. Her blade nicked his cheek, making a cut.

Caellach snarled. "Now you made me really angry," he bellowed, raising his sword above his head and sent it crashing down onto the floor. The blade smashed the wooden floor, creating a line of splinters.

There was little way for her to retaliate. He was too strong for her to deflect his blade, and his swings were wide and wild. All she could do was duck his blows and dodge his swings, in the hope that she could find a loophole in his swordplay and exploit it to her advantage.

"Hey, you know, if you stop dancing around like this and give me that little amulet around your neck, I might actually consider taking you to your dearest husband alive and whole," Caellach leered, as he swung his blade to her right.

"No." She replied coldly and firmly as she dodged.

"Well then, that's too bad," Caellach shrugged. "It'll be a pity to kill you; I was hoping we could have a little fun behind Joshua's back, if you know what I mean." This was accompanied by a heavy swing in her direction.

_You sick bastard. _

"You disgust me," she said, evading the blow.

He winked, delivering another blow. "I thought so too."

Their routine went on: he attacked, she dodged; he taunted, she refuted.

_Is this never going to end? _She asked mentally as she ducked another one of his heavy but wild swings.

Just then, she spied the perfect chance. As he swung his sword out again, she stabbed her shamshir towards his unguarded neck. He staggered in self-defense and shock, attempting to regain his balance, but before he could do so, she neatly swept her leg under his and kicked his shin, causing him to topple to the ground. She held up her shamshir, the tip pointing towards his chest.

"You bitch!" There was a shrill cry behind her, followed by the loud screech of a wyvern. She turned just in time to see Valter coming to his comrade's rescue, silver lance in hand, a deadly glint in his eye, murder in his every contorted feature.

A second of deliberation was all Caellach needed to prop himself up, grab his silver sword and prepare it for the death of the Princess of Jehanna.

Everything happened do quickly in the next few seconds.

She drove her shamshir straight into the wyvern's chest, most likely into its heart, causing the wyvern to scream and rear.

Valter threw himself off the wyvern towards her, silver lance in his hand aimed for the hollow of her throat.

Caellach rose and prepared to plunge his silver sword into her back.

An arrow sped towards her heart from a hidden Grado sniper, the black feathers aiding its speed, the obsidian tip sharp and deadly.

She pulled out her shamshir and drove it into Valter chest, preparing herself for her imminent death.

She heard someone cry out her name and pull her into an embrace.

They fell.

She blinked. Her head spun after hitting the floor. She looked back at the two Grado generals. Valter's silver lance had pierced Caellach's chest, while Caellach's sword was embedded in Valter's abdomen. Both had died instantly, collapsed in a heap with Valter's dying writhing wyvern.

There was no sign of the arrow.

She looked back at her saviour.

"Saleh!" She launched herself at him, who was still lying beneath her. "You saved-"

There was a sharp jab of pain at her chest, and she immediately flinched and pulled away.

Saleh looked fine, and he was smiling. But his chest was stained with crimson blood, and there was a sharp black point sticking out from his flesh.

The arrow.

"Saleh!" She cried, unable to believe her eyes. He was smiling; he was still smiling at her…how could he have been hit by the arrow…it was not possible…he was still smiling at her…She cradled him in her hands. "The healers! I'll take you to the healers! The healers! They will heal you…"

Saleh continued smiling. She no longer though it was a nice smile; it was a bloodless smile, a smile that signified his end.

"Saleh! You must stay strong! The healers are coming over here! Saleh, stay with us!" She shouted incoherently, staring at his bloodless lips, the smile that seemed plastered on his face.

There was a small tug at her robe, and she looked down. Saleh's face was not twitching, but his finger still moved. Stained with his blood, his finger was crimson, and his hand grasped hers shakily.

"Saleh, I'll promise you anything! Anything! So long as you agree to stay with me! Stay strong Saleh!" she shouted.

He grasped her hand firmer, tugging at her fingers.

She looked down.

In her palm, he was drawing. With his crimson finger, he was drawing on her palm with his own blood. Slowly and unsteadily, he traced. First one half, then the other.

A heart.

A simple red heart outline drawn with his own blood on her palm.

_I love you._

Even until his grave.

_I'll love you even beyond my death._

Til his death.

_After all this time, all these while, I love you._

"Saleh…" Her vision was clouded by her tears. He loved her. Even after so long, so many tumultuous events, after she became Prince Joshua's wife…he always loved her.

Always.

His finger lingered briefly with the last stroke, before falling limply onto the ground.

He was still smiling, but now the smile was frozen in his face.

The light had extinguished from his eyes.

"Saleh? Saleh! Saleh!" She shook him hysterically. _He cannot just die like this! He cannot! I won't believe it! I won't! Saleh! Wake up! You are my best friend; you cannot just leave me like this without a goodbye! You cannot! I forbid you to! Saleh!_

It was no use.

Her world had just plunged into darkness, and there was no one to light it up any longer.

There was a roar behind her and she turned around and eyed the leaping swordmaster wearily.

The war was senseless; her best friend died protecting her.

Her sword hung uselessly by her side. She lacked the strength, willpower and incentive to lift it to defend herself.

What purpose was there in life if someone else had to give up his life to exchange for yours?

The swordmaster's sword cleaved nearer and nearer. In another split second, it would slice her jugular artery.

She closed her eyes. Her heart trembled gently. She was afraid, but she was not going to let her fear get to her.

Maybe if she prayed hard enough, she could just trade her life for Saleh's.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry folks, I understand everyone loves Saleh. Heck, I like him too. But guess what? He's incredible and awesome, but he needs to be killed for the sake of the story, as stupid as that reason is. And Marisa...I suppose the simplest reason for her behaviour would be survivor's guilt. For that brief instant after someone else died for your sake, you generally lose your direction and everything else along with the other person's death. That would explain her lack of motivation to even defend herself. **

**It's not a personality thing; it's a psychological thing. It's probably the same for everyone. Instinct will only kick in after the inital shock and guilt wears off.**

**Go curse Valter and Caellach or something. The two hooligans caused Saleh's death.**

**Love~snowylavendermist**


	26. Shackles of Betrayal

**Shackles of Betrayal**

_Nothing hurts more than betrayal, doesn't it? To understand that your vested confidence and trust in someone had been violently abused and trampled under their feet, that they had turned the tables against you using your own faith in them...it really does hurt._

_

* * *

_

She expected a sharp pain, or a least a sting like the feeling of a pin's prick. And she waited, faithfully, with her eyes closed, arms useless by her sides.

But all she received with a wet splatter across her face, causing her to open her eyes curiously.

The swordmaster was slumped against the wall, dead from a slash across his back. She was staring into the fuming face of Stefan.

"YOU!" He seethed. "After all that your friend did to keep you alive, you could have tried harder to save your own damned life instead of throwing yourself at the mercy of the first enemy that comes along!"

_But…Saleh's dead…and I don't deserve to live…_she mourned. _Why do I live when my life was bought by Saleh's? Why did Saleh have to die protecting me? Why is he always the one sacrificing himself for me? What have I ever done for him besides make him worried, anxious and terrified? Why did it have to turn out this way?_

Stefan cut down another pouncing Grado soldier. "Do you think your friend will be happy to know that you committed suicide after he sacrificed himself for you? Can you THINK, woman?" He stabbed another general in the throat just before the general drove his silver lance into Marisa. "He loves you; so he wants you to live on happily, can't you see the _freaking_ logic? _Can't you_?"

_Can I?_

"Dude, even if you want to sit and mop, the battlefield is _not_ a good place, if you just realized?" Stefan lectured, throwing his daggers into a nearby sniper. "Could you like give me some help here? It's not easy trying to cover your back, your dead friend's body and my own backside at the same time you know!" He drove his dagger indignantly into another Grado warrior.

_Harsh as he is, he is right. _She pondered. _Saleh died for me. He wants me to make full use of my life and save Jehanna. That's why he sacrificed himself. He loves me. He wants me to live on happily and peacefully. He loves me enough to die for me. He loves me so much so that he is willing to give up himself for me._

"Damn!" Stefan cursed as he was surrounded.

A swarm of druids formed a circle around her, circling her and Saleh's body in a trap without any way of escape.

_The circle of death…dark druid's circle…_she muttered under the breath. Saleh had once told her about the potency of this magic circle. There was no escape for the victim, who would be surrounded by dark magic and drained of his soul by the sheer power of the black magic. In his words, it would 'flux the life out of the victim'.

The druids, all of them identical in black hoods, billowing black robes and pale nondescript faces, raised their hands in front of them, pointing towards her. Swaying on the spot, they began chanting words of ancient dark magic.

The carpet beneath her feet heated up as ancient runes glowed in a circular pattern.

"Damn! Marisa!" Stefan shouted furiously, trying frantically to break his circle of enemies. "I'm coming!"

_No…there was no need to come…_A vein throbbed in her temple.

The ground crackled with power as the runes glowed white hot and beads of sweat formed on the druids' forehead as they concentrated.

_NOW!_

Unsheathing her shamshir as she sprang forward, she slit the throat of the nearest druid before he could complete his incantation.

The druid dropped dead, but his companions ignored his death and closed up the circle, continuing the spell.

She needed to finish all of them before the spell could be completed. Sprinting, she pulled her shamshir to her side and slit the throats of the druids as she ran. Seven left…six left…

Their hands glowed white hot.

Five left…

The circle was aflame with black magic. A torrent of power rose from the ground, almost like a wave of solid black energy. The black energy formed a hideous beast, which leapt at her throat.

She dodged the beast easily and slashed at the beast's jaw. The black form disintegrated, but left an aftershock in her hand that felt both sore and painful. Holding her sword firmly, she shoved her blade down the throat of the leaping monster, resisting that painful prickling sensations coming from the pulses of dark magic. With a cry, she broke the circle of magic and took out the five remaining druids at lightning speed, jaw set with determination.

In the middle of the ring of corpses, she knelt beside Saleh's body, examining him anxiously. The dark magic had not destroyed his corpse. If anything, Saleh looked almost as though he was in a deep slumber, only without the rise and fall of his chest and the blood in his face.

There was a hand on her shoulder.

"Dark magic preserves their victims," Stefan said. "He'll never have to worry about looking bad in death for infinity."

"You turned traitor to Grado," she stated flatly.

"Put it this way, Princess," Stefan laughed, heading back to the fray. "Your kindness touched the depth of my heart and I defected to prevent myself from spending sleepless nights worrying about how to repay your gratitude."

A small smile escaped her lips. "Come on then, show me just how grateful you are."

He laughed as he chopped down two of his former countrymen with one graceful stroke. "Very grateful." He paused. "I'll watch your back? You watch mine?"

She nodded.

_I will be back for you, Saleh. I'll make sure I'll take care of you._

* * *

"Stop!" There was a shrill series of commands through the air. "The High Commander tells you to stop!"

Instantly, as though having an imperial decree, the Grado soldiers lay down their arms and retreated into a line, protected by their shields, leaving the Jehannan soldiers staring in bewilderment at their opponents, whom they had been engaging in fierce combat with barely a second ago.

She sliced the last swordmaster before her. _High commander? Who is that?_

"That's the commander of the Jehannan invasion," Stefan hissed. "It's-"

"Greetings your highnesses, fellow countrymen and fellow enemies!" It was that odious voice that made her skin crawl with its greasiness and the sheer amount of insincerity that oozed out of every word. "The High Commander pays his respects to all of you for having heroically lived till now!"

She stared at horror as Prime Minister Alexander strode to the front of the Grado army and addressed the soldiers. She turned back to Stefan, hoping that he would tell her this was a joke, but Stefan's face was set in utmost seriousness, and his jaw was clenched.

"Sir Alexander!" Queen Ismaire gasped. "What are you-What did you-Why-"

"Your highness!" Sir Alexander swept her a short bow. "It is a pity that we have to meet in such circumstances. It distresses me to see your complexion marred by the presence of blood spilled from unknown sources. Is it tiring being a soldier? Yes? Dear me. Well, I address you today as the High Commander of the Grado Army, Operation Leader of Operation Lightning, the operation to conquer and force Jehanna into submission for the Grado Empire."

"You-" Queen Ismaire pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You betrayed Jehanna! You betrayed your motherland! You betrayed us, the royal family! And you dare crawl back here and show your vile face in this hall? You disgust me."

Sir Alexander shrugged, adjusting the black cape on his shoulders. "Royal family? Pah! Remember, your highness, Jehanna's royal family is no longer royal anymore. The royal blood is so diluted that it is tainted by more common blood than noble."

"It matters not! My husband was of noble birth. My son is of noble birth. The throne is rightfully theirs," Queen Isamire replied.

"In your dreams it is," Sir Alexander sneered. "Like father; like son, so they say. Your husband was a wise king, but his only folly was to marry you, a lowly commoner of mercenary birth. YOU tainted the royal Jehannan bloodlines with your lowly blood. Then your son, a mongrel himself, went and married THIS!" He pointed a finger at Marisa. "You? Royal family? You are nothing more than a palace full of mongrels. I, on the other hand, was descended from the same grandfather as your husband, but in my veins flows only the blood of the noblest houses of the six nations. I deserve that throne more than you do!"

"You are crazed, Sir Alexander," Queen Ismaire retorted harshly. "In your quest for power you forgot the kindness my husband showed you that year when he made you Prime Minister on his deathbed, reminiscing your ties with him as distant kin."

"Pah!" Sir Alexander brushed the argument aside. "He was delirious. Anyone could have pretended to be his mother and he would scarcely notice the discrepancy. And that was not kindness; it was the debt he owed me for ignoring my welfare for so many years. I was a kin of the royal family, so why was it that my family was riddled with debt when I was young? My father gambled his fortunes, and he asked your husband and his family to assist him in repaying his debts, but you cold-heartedly turned him down in his face! You left him in the lurch and left him to die at the hands of his creditors, even though you were relatives. I was penniless when I was young, literally had not a coin in my pocket. I scrapped a living in the most demeaning manner, and I demand compensation today for the shame I suffered forty years ago!"

"And so you want Jehanna to be given to you as compensation?" Queen Ismaire asked coldly. "You are a madman, Sir Alexander, crazed with your ideas of vengeance and discrimination. Marisa's father was an unrepentant gambler, and she worked hard as well to repay his debts from young, before she met my son. Do you see her demanding compensation for her suffering? Do you see her marching into this hall with a foreign army? Do you see her betraying her country, her countrymen, her _soul_ for power? You are mad, Sir Alexander. I will never allow you to succeed. The Jehannan army will stand till the last man falls."

At her last sentence, Sir Alexander threw his head back and roared with laughter. He laughed and laughed till the tears of mirth came into his beady eyes, filled with a malicious humour.

"What's the joke?" Gerik spat.

Sir Alexander dried his eyes. "In that case, your highness, I believe that it would be wise for you to give up this very instant. For besides that loyal troop of hard-core Jehannan soldiers still holding on to that piece of rock with Prince Joshua, you _don't have an army_."

"What do you mean I don't have an army?" Queen Ismaire asked tensely. "My army is right here, in flesh and blood, resisting your enemy forces."

"I assume you placed Carlyle, your war minister, as your chief commander, which means that your army listens to him right?" Sir Alexander smiled nastily. "Well it just so happens that Carlyle is now…let's just say under Grado."

Queen Ismaire paled. "Carlyle…that's impossible! He was my most trusted minister! He saved my life once from an assassin! How could he…"

Sir Alexander rolled his eyes. "Carlyle, my dear defected comrade, could you please come and show yourself so that her highness can stop steadfastly believing in your non-existent loyalty?"

A man with light sandy hair and deep-set eyes slowly made his way from amidst the legions of Grado soldiers and stood beside Prime Minister Alexander.

"Carlyle!" Queen Ismaire cried in shock. "You-you really turned your back on Jehannan? After all that you have done for your country…why you were the one who taught me to wield a sword! You would…really betray us?"

Carlyle was silent, and he hung his head.

"Now Carlyle, do what you promised me," Sir Alexander coaxed.

Without looking at Queen Ismaire, Carlyle raised his head and sighed. "Fellow soldiers of Jehanna, lay down your arms! As your supreme commander, I order you to disarm."

All the Jehannan soldiers stared at him as though he had gone mad. When he swept his glance over them firmly, they finally understood that he was serious. Looking hesitantly at the queen, they disarmed one by one, their weapons dropped onto the ground.

Defying the supreme commander meant instant death by army rules.

"Excellent! Excellent!" Sir Alexander clapped. "My fellow Jehannans, Prince Lyon has sent word that he pardons your former belligerence and antagonism towards Grado. If you are willing to lay down your arms and make peace by surrendering unconditionally, his highness is willing to spare your life and even perhaps, reward you for making the right decision. Instead of fighting for a useless cause, is it not wiser to ensure your own survival, Jehannans?"

_Don't surrender, you fools! _She wanted desperately to cry out, but even she herself knew that it would be futile. They were heavily outnumbered; if the fighting continued it would most likely generate enormous numbers of casualties, numbers too horrifying to even think about. Some of them had dependencies, families, friends, loved ones…they could not just abandon everything just to offer their lives for their country.

"Cowards," she heard Stefan mutter.

_Indeed, cowards._

One by one, the soldiers disarmed and knelt on their knees, pledging their allegiance to Grado and their new leader, who smiled evilly at the sight.

Only a scattered handful of soldiers, perhaps only about 30 men, retained their positions and clutched their weapons, gathering around Queen Ismaire. She recognized one of the men as the guard of the dungeon who had once pledged himself firmly to Sir Alexander, the man who had defied her orders and risked death to demonstrate his loyalty and was subsequently made captain.

_We need more men like him, _she though in approval.

Sir Alexander scanned the crowd of defiant soldiers who were standing together around the queen, the Jehannan crest reflecting proudly on their armour. "You!" He shouted, pointing at the guard-made-captain. "Did you not once swear that you would be loyal to me even till your death? Why did you switch your allegiance at this juncture?"

The captain swallowed. He was afraid, but he did not let his fear change his allegiance. "I am a true-blue soldier of Jehanna, and my utmost priority is to my country. I will not follow you in making the same mistake of succumbing to temptation and fear."

"So you would protect Jehanna with your life? Even if you know you will die will doing so?" Sir Alexander laughed.

The captain shuddered. "Yes."

Sir Alexander raised his hand. "Very well then, I'll let you be the first to taste the power of Fenrir, my brave captain."

"No!" Queen Ismaire pushed the captain out of the way and pointed her sword at Sir Alexander. "You. You will fight me and me only. Do not involve the soldiers if you have a personal grudge against me and want to eliminate me."

Sir Alexander laughed again. "My pleasure, my queen, I can hardly wait to see your nicely toasted corpse." He moved forward, before being grasped firmly by Carlyle. "What?" he snapped testily. "Get your filthy hands off my robes!"

"You!" Carlyle said. "You promised to give her to me if I surrendered the Jehannan army! You promised to let her live. How can you-Urgh!" He was flung backwards roughly as Sir Alexander kicked him.

"Stand back, you filthy cur," Sir Alexander snarled. Looking intently at Queen Ismaire, he struck out his hand. The magic cruised through the air, creating sparks of black. Queen Ismaire attempted to dodge, but was slowed down by the wounds she had received when she was battling alongside the soldiers. The magic caught her by the ankle, and she cried out. But she was unable to do anything, paralysed by the magical current.

"And now, I get rid of this eyesore," Sir Alexander smiled. Flipping open his tome, he waved his hand, muttering an incantation directed at his paralysed victim. A large purple symbol formed above Queen Ismaire's head, crackling.

"Farewell!" Sir Alexander cried, thrusting his hand out. Black lightning rained from his palm, shooting towards the target.

"No!"

There was an explosion, followed by billowing purple fumes. Everyone covered their faces with their sleeves and robes, choking from the toxic smell of the fumes.

"Carlyle?" Queen Ismaire cried incredulously as she pushed the body off her. "Carlyle! Carlyle!"

"The fool's dead." Sir Alexander snarled angrily. "It was such a good spell, and he wasted it. Why won't you die, woman? I try and kill all of you again and again and none of you seem to ever die from it. It's either that someone saves you, or that you are immune. _Why won't all of you just die already?_" He roared, the black lightning still swarming over his hands. He directed his palm at one of the statues along the wall, and it instantly smashed into nothing more than marble chips. "That fool just had to ruin everything because of his _great love_!"

"Love?" Queen Ismaire asked weakly.

Sir Alexander glared at her in hatred. "That fool worshipped you as though you were the light of his life! Obviously you weren't worth it, but that fool was so blinded by your deceiving outer appearance that he ruined by entire grand scheme by saving you last minute and killing himself! What's with people nowadays? Sacrificing themselves for love? Pah! That's for idiots!"

_How dare he say Saleh is an idiot?_ She clenched he fists tightly as she watched him raise his hand at Queen Ismaire, who was still grieving. _That bastard…that cur…I'll never forgive him. He ruined everything that I had and there is no way I am going to let him walk away without paying for his crimes._

"I shall waste no more of my sacred energy trying to kill you miserable fools," Sir Alexander snarled. "Give me the Sacred Stone, the Sacred Twins and surrender unconditionally the country to me before I take them by force and send all your souls to the devil." He pointed at Ewan. "You! You look like a god boy. Come here and Uncle Alex will reveal to you all the secrets of dark magic."

Ewan shook his head defiantly, the corners of his mouth drooping into a sulk. "I hate you! You killed Master Saleh! I'll go to you when hell freezes over!"

Sir Alexander looked shocked and bemused at the crude language spilling out of Ewan's mouth and he laughed. "Well then, your highness, you have one staunch adherent, in the form of a young boy no taller than my waist. Impressive. Will any of you like to come over to my side, or will you all join me when hell freezes over, as this boy so aptly puts it?"

"To hell with you!" Gerik roared, shifting the sword on his shoulder. He glared murderously at Sir Alexander, as though longing to cut him down on the spot. "We'll join you when hell freezes over!"

"Yeah!" Ewan shouted, while Tethys had a look of grim determination.

The rest of the soldiers agreed unanimously.

"You are fools," Sir Alexander hissed. "All of you."

"We are not fools, Sir Alexander," Queen Ismaire replied coolly. "We are true blue Jehannans, and we die for our cause and what we believe in. Carlyle too, was a real Jehannan, dying for his beliefs and his love, only that he was misguided by someone, I suspect, and thus suffered his death in your hands today."

"Pah!" Sir Alexander frowned. "That man was nothing more than a blundering fool. Hey you!" He pointed at Stefan. "Aren't you that stupid Carcino fellow from the dungeon? Did your darling lover Princess rescue you? Seems like I was always right about you two. You defected to Jehanna? What a fool you are! Come here to the side of the victorious and we'll show them the might of Grado's crushing army!"

Stefan narrowed his eyes and clutched his daggers tight. "I would have you know that you are speaking to the Vice-Commander of Grado Espionage 1st Company, not some Carcino fellow you so mistakenly believed. I defected because the Princess has shown me extraordinary kindness and mercy and I am touched by her noble gestures. It surprises me how little about your own people, Sir Alexander." He rolled his sleeve to show him a white scar made by the leather whip. "See this? Remember how you whipped me so kindly?"

Sir Alexander frowned. "You _are_ a fool. Instead of staying with the winners you help the losers. It's not too late to change again. Make the right choice, my former comrade."

"Over my dead body," Stefan spat.

Very well then, over your dead body it shall be," Sir Alexander said, his face darkening as he conjured a ball of black magic in his hand.

"Stop."

Marisa stepped forward, hand holding her shamshir tightly. "If it is the Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins you want, you have to defeat me first. They are on me. If you want them, duel and kill me first."

"Marisa! Don't!" Gerik cried, reaching forward to stop her.

She ignored him and walked forward, stopping ten feet away from Sir Alexander, who wore a twisted smile.

"You know you don't stand a chance, do you?" Sir Alexander said softly, evidently delighted.

She shrugged. "You never know until you try."

"You are a fool," he reiterated.

She rolled her eyes. "Is that your only refrain?"

"Nope," he said easily. "My other line is 'time to die'."

"Well then," she replied. "Maybe I'll just borrow this line from you for once."

A transparent wall of air, impenetrable and impervious, rose around the two of them. "Just to make it a fair duel," Sir Alexander explained carelessly.

_With this limited space, it restricts my ability to maneuver and my dodging spaces. It is to his favour. _She frowned. "Make the arena larger."

She barely leapt out of the way as the ground beneath her feet crackled and a blast of dark magic hit where she had been standing a second ago.

"I create the wall. I decide what size it is," Sir Alexander smiled evilly, revealing his sharp canines.

_Damn. _She dodged another bolt of lightning. She was trapped, between the wall and Sir Alexander's grinning face, beneath his protective defenses of black lightning.

With a cry of fury, she spun her shamshir in her hand and sprang towards him, swinging her shamshir high over her head. She aimed straight for his neck, towards his jugular vein. If she used all the strength she had left in her body, maybe she could just win…

He flung his arm and caught her in an arm-twist. Snarling, he twisted her wrist till she dropped her shamshir and threw her like a rag-doll across the floor into the glass wall behind.

She felt herself flying, before her back smashed painfully against the glass wall. Vaguely, she could hear pounding on the glass wall, and the sounds of shouting from her friends, as well as the sounds of cheering from the Grado soldiers. Her head throbbed painfully from the impact of hitting against the wall. From the corner of her eye, she could see her shamshir lying merely two arm lengths away from her. Gritting her teeth in pain, she pulled herself towards her shamshir, fingers clawing towards the hilt as she sprawled out against the ground in pain.

_Just a little more…Marisa…you can do that…_

An intense shot of pain shot through her fingers, making her nearly cry out aloud in pain. She looked up difficultly at Sir Alexander, who smiled smugly over her, his boots trampling over her fingers.

She could hear the crunch as he ground his heels hard against her fingers, biting down fiercely on her own lips to prevent her from wincing from the pain. He stood over her, eyes glinting in malice, his smug expression daring her to let a single whimper escape her lips.

_No…_She shut her eyes tightly as she tasted the blood she had drawn from her lip. Her bones broke one by one under his heavy weight, her right hand broken and useless. Her fingers fell limply against the silver hilt of her shamshir. She couldn't even close her fingers around the hilt.

_I can't just give up like this. Not after Saleh had died for me._

She could smell the stench of Sir Alexander's foul breath. She recoiled in disgust.

"My turn," he whispered softly in her ear.

_I can't give up. For Saleh, I need to strive on._

"Time to die," Sir Alexander said mockingly. "You are a fool."

_The riddle…I can't give up…_

_What did the riddle say…?_

"Bye, your highness."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Guess what was the hurry behind this chapter?**

**Darkblaziken.**

**Yup. *glare* **

**I forgive everyone and anyone who has been secretly making voodoo dolls of me for killing Saleh. **

**Love ~ snowylavendermist**


	27. Shackles of Desperation

**Shackles of Desperation**

_Oh, but desperation does drive you to such ends..._

* * *

_One a sword like the swiftest falcon,_

_The other a tome, air moving without return._

_Once a bud they split in noble failing,_

_Shards of a whole, a nation's calling._

_Pay a heavy price, if you wish so dear,_

_The requisites fulfilled the whole awaits to appear._

_A drop of Heracles' blood, breaks the iron cuff_

_Another drop, and away with a huff_

_Some wisdom of Sir Kai's, even it be gruff_

_Too much of one, and things may vanish in a puff._

_Hand of the saint, wields the golden spindle,_

_Weaving a tapestry of magic, for the golden cradle._

_It matters not the colour of the blood,_

_Blue is gentle, while red is a flood._

_What matters is the traitorous quality,_

_A question of the heart's beating loyalty._

She closed her eyes, muttering the words over and over again in her mind rapidly. She was running out of time. The ground beneath her feet was starting to warm up. In less than a minute she would be entrapped in this snare of dark magic, having her life force sucked out of her body.

_The first four lines describe the Sacred Twins and that's it. So the actual riddle must be behind, right?_

"You know," Sir Alexander laughed softly. "You're really pathetic. Why didn't Belle manage to finish you off, huh? Seems like she was not as useful as I thought she would be. She had so many chances to kill you off, you know, but she screwed all of them up. Seems like it is true, you really have to do some things by yourself."

_The next two lines say that I have a few requirements to meet before I can unlock the Sacred Twins. If I can change them back into their original form, it would grant me a weapon that may be powerful enough for me to take on Sir Alexander._

The icy wind howled around her, enclosing her in a circle. She felt vulnerable, as though she was blatantly standing in an open field during a thunderstorm, waiting to be struck by the lightning.

_A drop of Heracles' blood? If Heracles was a mythical hero, there would be no such tangible thing as his blood, unless it is referring to his qualities, like bravery, supernatural strength and such. But how do you fulfill these requisites if they are intangible? And it would be gone in another drop, does that call for moderation?_

The sound of magic crackled as she closed her eyes, brows knitted together in concentration. She did not care that she was inches away from what may be her death. She would need to solve this puzzle, otherwise it would be a sure death.

_Sir Kai…one of the Knights of the Round Table, steward to King Arthur. But what does it mean by his wisdom? For wisdom is not Merlin more famous? His wisdom? As in how to ride a horse and wield a broadsword? The next line would be another call for moderation?_

She heard Sir Alexander mocking her. "Not even going to defend yourself, wench? Well that makes it all the simpler for me then! I'll just kill you and take those treasures, then Jehanna will be mine!"

_Hand of the saint with the golden spindle? Would saint here to refer to the legendary saint of swords? But the saint of swords doesn't hold a golden spindle! He held a Wo Dao! And he certainly did no weaving of the sort, neither was he skilled in magic. Unless there is deeper meaning in these two lines, something more about the combination of magic and melee…_

She heard the furious howl as the dark magic sprang to life, taking the form of a savage beast with gaping jaws, almost like a hound from hell. It opened its mouth and roared ravenously, stalking her with cunning and calculation.

_And the last four lines, they talked about the colour of blood, which would most likely be a reference to the birth of the individual. It means to say that birth status doesn't matter? Is it trying to ask for a loyal person to the crown, regardless of his or her birth status?_

With a cry like the roar of thunder, the beast sprang at her, jaws wide open. Grey sticky saliva dripped from its canines as it launched itself at her neck.

"Farewell, fool. That is the path of a loyal Jehannan soldier," Sir Alexander said scornfully. "Courage, patriotism, loyalty…all these…what do they do for you besides bring you to an early death?"

And she knew.

In one instant, the whole of the riddle was revealed to her.

She could almost smell the beast's putrid breath in her face.

_Heracles' blood refers to his courage, but what is needed is enough courage to create heroism, not foolhardiness. Sir Kai's wisdom is loyalty, but what is wanted is discerning loyalty, not blind faith in the leaders. The hand of the saint refers to the skill of the wielder of the blade, and the golden spindle refers to the instrument for success. The magical tapestry refers to the success itself, and the golden cradle would refer to the birth of weapon made from the combined Sacred Twins. It would mean a combination of both magic and melee, just as Saleh had once mentioned. As the for last, it asks for a loyal heart, without caring about the nobility of the person._

She knew what it wanted.

The Sacred Stone began glowing with a red fire.

She knew what she needed to do.

Using her free hand, she clutched tightly at the burning amulet around her neck. "I do."

The moment the words fell from her lips, everything froze around her, as though they had fallen out of the passage of time. The magical black beast froze in mid-air, as though suspended from the ceiling like a prop. Everyone around her was in their respective positions, resembling blocks of ice sculptures. It seemed almost unreal, like she was standing in a painting.

She blinked.

There was a shimmer of golden light that was moving towards her. It was nothing but a sliver of radiance, but it shook and trembled as though it was alive. Two beams of light shot out, and reached towards her and took the Sacred Twins.

The Sacred Stone around her neck glowed brighter than ever, almost blinding. Yet, she felt that she could perfectly trust this shimmer of light, whatever ethereal creature it may be.

"You have come a long way." A voice seemed to come from the golden light, directed at her. It was soothing and calm, and it made her feel perfectly at peace. "It is brave of you to sacrifice yourself for Jehanna, and it is indeed noble. You have true intentions, and you have solved the riddle. Well done."

"Thank you," she replied. She still needed to take the sword the save Jehanna, so could she…

"Be patient, young one," the light said softly. "You have all but passed the first and easiest trial of them all. To merge the Sacred Twins requires a tremendous sacrifice, and involves a risk that only one with great courage and determination can undertake. If you merge the Sacred Twins, you do understand that you are tying your life force with it. That means that the Sacred Weapon will stay together as long as it is in your hand, but if it falls out of your hands, it will separate once more into two individual Sacred Twins. However, should it fall out of your hands and into enemy hands during the course of the battle, you too, will be lost. Do you understand what you are getting yourself into? Do you still agree with wholeheartedly to merge the Sacred Twins?"

She nodded. Too many people were dependent on her. The fate of the entire nation rested on her shoulders. She could not lose. "I agree."

The shimmer seemed to smile. "Very well then, we shall let the Sacred Twins themselves judge you, shall we? We'll let them decide whether you are worthy of wielding the Sacred Weapon."

She felt a rush of air pass through her, enveloping her. It seemed as though, suddenly, she had become light as a feather, with no weight whatsoever to speak of, and she was floating in the air like a bubble.

The Sacred Twins glowed before her. The Sacred Stone around her neck was burning hot to the touch, and it too shone softly.

She held her breath. As the Sacred Twins continued to glow, she felt as though someone was perusing her life, going through every memory in her mind. The light seemed to penetrate her thoughts and understand her desires, her wishes, her faults and her virtues. And it would judge, as though there was an invisible balance weighing her worth.

After a long pause, the Sacred Twins shone brighter and brighter, till at last the light was so glaring that she had to look away.

"You are indeed worthy," the light said, relief in its voice. "One of the first few who have been judged by the Sacred Twins to be pure of intent in your wielding of the Sacred Weapon."

She heaved a sigh of relief, staring in awe at the new weapon before her. It was a long slim blade, with the sharpness of the Audhulma but the speed of the Excalibur. A red jewel shone on the silver hilt. Fascinated, she reached out for it, but her fingers bumped against an invisible glass wall.

"Why can't I take it?" She asked.

The light flickered. "The Sacred Weapon is an elusive thing. It will not willingly submit itself to you just because you passed its first test and its judgment. If you want to take it away with you, you have to summon it by its name."

_Summon it by its name? _She frowned. "But I don't know its name."

The shimmer flickered again. "Are you sure you don't know its name? If it has accepted you, and the two have established that right bond, you _will_ know its name. All you have to do is think hard, and persist."

_Think hard and persist? _She closed her eyes. What could be the name of the Sacred Weapon? Was it supposed to be in some difficult abstruse magic book or something? She hardly did any research about these weapons, and she would hardly have any knowledge of their naming and whatsoever.

_Ring of wealth and prosperity._

"What?" she muttered. Something was in her mind, whispering so softly that she could barely make out the words.

_The ring of wealth and prosperity, devoted to Odin of Nordic Legends, Leader of the Nordic Gods, Chief of the Aenir._

She had heard about that legend before, something about two branches of gods, the Aenir being the victorious and dominating branch. Odin was…the chief of the Nordic Gods, who wield a spear and rode an eight-legged horse named Sleipnir. But…he wore a ring?

Indeed, someone had once mentioned the name of the ring, but she could not remember. The glow of the Sacred Weapon was as bright as ever, but it gave no indication of relenting its last trial.

_The ring…what was the name of the ring?_

She frowned. Her mind combed through her memories, leafing through the pages that had once contained the myths of Nordic mythology, the names of the individual gods, their family trees and the powerful magical weapons they each possessed. But she just couldn't remember.

_No! For everyone who is counting on me, for Saleh, I must remember!_

All of a sudden, it was though the light had extinguished, and the presence of the Sacred Weapon and Sacred Stone gone. The flicker of light had vanished, and she was alone. She opened her eyes in wonderment as she stared at the interior of a limestone cave, just like the one that she had gone into to retrieve the Sacred Twins.

There was water in the cavern, tingling the air with water vapour. Slowly, she watched as beads of water ran down the marble surfaces of the stalactites to the tip, hanging precariously.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

_Drip? A dripping stalactite? The dripper?_

_DRIPPER!_

The answer hit her with such force that she nearly staggered from the thought in jubilation. Of course! Why didn't she think of it earlier?

She reached out her hand steadily, as though calling the sword over into her grasp. "Draupnir." She said. There was not a single hint of trepidation or hesitation in her voice. She was sure, so confident that she would have gambled her life on it. "Draupnir, I summon you."

The sword glowed brighter and slowly shifted towards her, floating like a bubble in midair. The hilt rested comfortably in her hand, and the blade immediately adjusted its length to suit her strength and height.

"I have a few last words of caution for you," the shimmer said. "Your road will not be easy, for you have entwined yourself with the Sacred Weapon. It has great power, but with great power comes great responsibility, as they say. Use it wisely, and never allow it to leave your hand until the battle is won. If it is torn from you forcibly, you will find that your soul will leave with it, leaving nothing but an empty shell forever more."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"As long as you live, Draupnir will respond to your call and your call only. You have become the mistress of the sword, and it will be loyal to you," the shimmer stated. "Once I leave, the battle will continue, are you ready?"

She nodded again, shifting into defensive stance.

"Good luck," the shimmer said and disappeared.

All around her, the people unfroze, moving their limbs once more. Shouts filled the air, and the black beast raced for her throat.

Sidestepping the beast, she lifted the sword and deftly sliced the beast's throat with Draupnir.

"My my, the Sacred Twin of Jehanna, I presume?" Sir Alexander chuckled evilly. "That just makes victory all the more easier for me. I love upgrades!" He withdrew another tome from his own cloak. "And here I have my own upgrade. Today, we shall see whose Sacred Twin shall triumph, Jehanna's Sacred Twin versus Grado's Gleipnir."

Before she could respond to his statement, he had unleashed the fury of Gleipnir. There was a myriad of patterns forming around her, an octagon made from black magic. Surrounding her, they enclosed her in a spinning vortex, preventing her from escaping before the main spell hit.

Without another second to spare, she dived out of the octagon, watching as a blast of dark magic created a hole on the ground where she had just stood.

"Give me that sword!" Sir Alexander shouted harshly, reaching out.

She stared in open-mouthed horror as black tendrils seemed to snake from his palm and flay towards her. The tendrils snaked around Draupnir, which shuddered, and began to pull it from her grip.

"No!" She grabbed onto the hilt with both hands, determined not to let go. If she did, it would be in Grado hands and their battle would have been lost. If she did let go, not only would Jehanna be lost, she herself would be lost along with the fall of Jehanna.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to find a spot where she could get a grip and prevent herself from being dragged over, but the floor was as smooth as glass. She could feel her soles dragging against the floor as Draupnir was pulled closer and closer to Sir Alexander's hand.

_No! _She screamed mentally, but she was helpless to do anything.

"Say farewell to your country, Princess," Sir Alexander laughed as he reached for the hilt.

"No!" She shouted. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the arm and pulled hard. All the muscles in her arm ached as she tugged at the hilt, her fingernails digging into the raised designs on the silver metal. Draupnir tilted towards her. Slowly, she took a step back, then another step, pulling Draupnir steadily away from Sir Alexander's grasp.

"Bitch!" Sir Alexander cursed as he retracted his hold on the sword, causing her to topple backwards and slam her head heavily against the invisible glass wall. Taking Gleipnir, he flung open the tome again to a page and flung his sleeve in her direction, muttering furiously under his breath.

The same eerie octagon appeared over her head, black and purple. She looked up groggily from where she was still trying to recover from the impact of the knock against the glass wall. As she attempted to stand up, the magic of Gleipnir hit her full on the face.

She staggered. The dark magic ran through her veins, like thousands of needles pricking mercilessly into her skin. Her heart seemed as though it was being compressed, making it difficult for her to breathe or even think properly. Ever muscle, every fibre, every cell in her body was demanding a release from the pain. It felt as though someone was slowly slicing every part of her while she was still conscious and alive.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to allow a single whimper to pass through her lips even in her agony. Sharp objects tore at her flesh, like shrapnel being flung in the midst of a cyclone. Gusts of wind howled around her like ravenous beasts, the air like blades of steel cutting into her skin.

Still, she held on tightly to Draupnir, refusing to let go of the only hope she had. The wind tore at her fingers, clawed at her flesh, bit her skin, trying to force her to unfurl her fingers, but she doggedly persisted in clutching the sword.

Very slowly, she straightened and took a step forward, towards Sir Alexander.

Draupnir was blazing with an icy fire, brighter than a thousand torches together. In the chaos around her, Draupnir appeared like the guiding light that would lead her to eventual success and safety.

Difficultly, she put her right foot down again, making another step.

Sir Alexander was merely a few steps away from her, and if she could get across to him, that traitor, she would ensure Jehanna's victory.

Gleipnir was glowing in his hand too, as he scowled at her and unleashed more of Gleipnir's tremendous power. To her, a mere mortal, the intense pain was indescribable, and it would have flung her into the abyss of despair if not for the glowing blue sword in her hand.

She took another step, then another.

The shrapnel cut her face, and she could feel the wind tearing her wounds open, but she could hardly care. She needed to get to him.

_You can do this…_

Slowly, she put another foot forward.

She was nearly before him.

For the first time in the course of the battle, she saw fear registered on Sir Alexander's face.

More and more shrapnel was flung at her, but she did not care. All she needed to do was take more steps to reach him, trap him in his own corner as he had intended to trap her.

She was right before him.

_My turn, Sir Alexander._ _This is for my country, for my Queen, for Joshua, for Gerik, for Tethys, for Ewan, for Stefan, for my best friend._

_This is for everyone. And this is for me._

Raising Draupnir high above her head, she brought down the blazing sword against his chest.

Sir Alexander screamed as the blade froze him and as sharp green gusts of wind attacked him mercilessly. He made a futile attempt to claw at Gleipnir, trying to invoke some of its hidden power, but the tome lay silent, no longer glowing. The glass wall around her shattered with a deafening crash. As the magic from Gleipnir died down, he too collapsed onto the ground, splayed.

The last gurgle died in his throat.

In the silence that ensued, she bent down slowly and picked up the fallen tome, Gleipnir, the Sacred Twin of Grado, under the scrutiny of all that were present. Decisively, she held up the tome in her left hand.

Silence.

The Jehannan soldiers and her friends broke out into cheers just as the Grado army fell noisily to their knees, surrendering since their commander was dead, and their Sacred Twin was in Jehannan hands.

She made her way over to her friends. "Seems like we won," she said, giving them a small smile.

Before she could react, she was bear-hugged by Queen Ismaire, who wept in relief and joy at their victory. Gerik grinned as he rubbed the top of her head and Tethys gave her another bear-hug. Stefan, always as aloof, congratulated her nonchalantly, although he too had a relieved expression. Ewan danced around in joy, giving shouts of 'hip hip hurray' that was echoed by the Jehannan soldiers.

_Saleh…I couldn't have done it without you…_

She withdrew from Tethys' embrace. "I need to go to the frontlines and let them know."

Queen Ismaire nodded. "Go, Marisa. Take Amber. You will reach the frontline in scarcely a day."

Running to the stables with Draupnir in one hand and Gleipnir in the other, she leapt atop Amber, who reared and took off.

The wind gently caressed her skin and her wounds as she rode swiftly over the plains and sand without halting for a rest. Indeed, in less than a day, she could already see the border, where the red tents of Jehanna and the black tents of Grado contrasted sharply, separated only by a small strip of barren land and a wide but shallow river.

It was late at night, but the sound of Amber's hooves thundering against the ground alerted the guards, who woke all the soldiers.

One by one, the Jehannan soldiers crawled out from their tents, a look of surprise on their faces.

Their faces paled as they sighted the Sacred Twin and Sacred Weapon in her hands, and they fell to their knees, heads bowed. As she rode further, they followed her, like followers after their leader.

"What is it so late at-" Joshua emerged from one of the tents. "Oh." His eyes widened as he saw Draupnir, and his eyes widened further when he saw Gleipnir in her hand.

Nodding at him, she continued riding, splashing through the water, till she was before the Grado tents, where the soldiers had already gathered in full armour ready to defend an attack. Not saying a word, she raised Gleipnir high up in the air, for all of them to see.

Silence.

Then the Grado army fell to their knees. With the Sacred Twin in her hand, they had to unconditionally surrender. They had fallen. By sheer default, the sovereignty to rule Grado had passed to her.

She smiled haughtily as she held up both Draupnir and Gleipnir, the two weapons lighting up the night sky like two beacons. She was sandwiched between two armies, both of which would obey her.

She would never forget the day when Jehannan and Grado both bowed down to her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Sigh...I didn't really like writing this chapter...**

**Going to update soon.**

**~ snowylavendermist**


	28. Shackles of Resurrection

**Shackles of Resurrection**

__

Just because someone is dead doesn't mean he cannot be resurrected.

But just because someone has been resurrected doesn't mean he is alive.

* * *

Grado had been totally annihilated.

It wasn't that they had purposely gone to burn the Grado villages or anything to take revenge of the Grado civilians. It was just that all the fields were barren, the crops had long wilted from lack of care, people had died of starvation and other diseases, bandits were rampant…in short, in Prince Lyons quest to conquer the world, he had severely neglected his own country and allowed Grado to fall to ruins. With his death, all of them had breathed a sigh of relief, although Ephraim and Eirika lamented the loss of their former friend.

But with Lyon's death, there were things to be done. The dark magic materials that Lyon had once used in his evil plans were supposed to be destroyed and burnt. The Grado treaties were supposed to be found and re-established. The governmental structure was supposed to be reorganised. Instructions were to be given; relief aid was to be dispensed. Rebuilding was to take place, and the traces of the evil plot erased forever.

And that was why Marisa was stuck here in this musty library with Lord Ephraim, Tana, some warrior of Ephraim's named Ross, and a sniper named Neimi.

"I can't believe Lyon was reading all of these!" Lord Ephraim frowned. "Little wonder he had been corrupted by the evilness in the books. The dark magic in them makes me shudder!" He threw the book in his hand into the burning bonfire in the middle of the fireplace, where nearly half of Lyon's library had already been consumed and destroyed.

"I suppose we could have hardly expected him to do such a thing," Tana comforted her husband. "It's not your fault, Ephraim. You had to take care of Renais and you were occupied as well."

The sheer amount of adoration and fluffy love between the royal Renais couple made her greatly amused. They were forever speaking to each other in terms of endearment with honeyed words, much to the chagrin and disgust of Innes, who always harboured a grudge against Ephraim.

"Why do you like him so much?" Innes would shake his head as he addressed his little sister. "He's nothing more than a pretty face and a slighter better than average figure."

"He's the best!" Tana would defend Ephraim hotly. "He is so caring and so sweet and so chivalrous and so noble and so-" She would trail behind Innes reciting all of Ephraim's good qualities as he gagged.

She smiled as she pulled another book from the shelf, taking care not to breathe in too much dust. She was about to throw it into the fire when she noticed the title.

Resurrection.

She blinked. "Resurrection…" she muttered slowly. If I could read what this book says and follow the instructions, I would be able to bring Saleh back to life again! Then I would have my best friend back with me once more and I won't feel guilty towards him for dying for me!

"Marisa!" A chirpy voice behind her nearly caused her to drop the book. Tana leant over her shoulder. "What book is that? Ohhhh…resurrection…sounds cool…" She took a look at Ephraim's horrified expression. "I was kidding!" she pouted as she went over and hugged her husband.

Marisa waited until all of them had their backs turned, then slipped the book silently into her own pocket. Hurriedly, she walked towards the door, intent on getting out before anyone noticed the bulge in her pocket.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Tana asked cheerily.

"Umm…the washroom." She nodded, slipping out of the room. Closing the door, she heaved a sigh of relief. The book in her pocket weighed heavily on her conscience, but she knew that as a friend, she would have to try every means to bring Saleh back to life. She owed him that much.

The stables…right, and find Amber. She set off towards the stables. I need to get back and bring Saleh back to life.

"Hey! Marisa!"

Damn.

Joshua jogged up to her. "Where are you running off to in such a hurry? Weren't you supposed to be in the library clearing all the dark and creepy books?" He moved closer. "What's that in your pocket?" His voice seemed sharper all of a sudden. "Is it a book?"

She backed away in alarm. "It's just a normal book," she lied smoothly. "Queen Ismaire just sent a message for me to return to help her with something, so I'll be leaving first. Apologise to the rest for me."

Turning before Joshua could stop her, she fled down the dark corridor lit only be gothic looking candles.

* * *

Amber whined happily as she entered the stables.

"Here, girl." She gave Amber an apple from the apple barrel left carelessly by the stable boys. As the horse munched happily on the treat, she quickly saddled her and adjusted the bridle. "I need you to take me back to Jehanna quickly. Can you do it for me?"

Amber snorted and pawed the ground, anxious to gallop once more.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, opening the stable door. She needed to get back as quickly as possible. She could hardly wait for Saleh's resurrection. All the rest would be so pleased, and she would have her best friend back.

Wait for me Saleh, I won't forsake your sacrifice for me.

* * *

The morgue was cold, freezing in fact. It needed to be cold in order to keep the bodies of those who had died but had yet to be buried.

But she scarcely felt the cold. All she experienced was intoxicating warmth, from her own anticipation of Saleh's return to life and her joy at imagining the look of happy surprise on Saleh's face once he resurrected.

Her boots clicked loudly against the cold stone floor.

R…S…She examined the name cards on the rows and rows of cloth-covered bodies that lay still on their individual stone slabs. Sabrina…Safyr…Sa…Saleh.

She stopped before the white covered corpse that lay calmly on the stone table. Hands trembling, she reached forward and lifted the white cover off the body.

It was him. Stefan was right. Dark magic did preserve the victims. After spending such a long time in death, Saleh looked like he had just died. No, he looked as though he was still alive, only entrapped in a deep slumber, like of those princesses trapped in an eternal sleep because of an evil spell or curse.

She stroked his cheek. It was cold to the touch, but still smooth and perfect.

It's as though he never died in the first place.

A tear fell on his ch

* * *

eek, and she hurriedly brushed it away, afraid that water would corrode his perfect corpse.

It's not the time to cry, silly Marisa. She scolded. What happened to your supernatural courage when you were fighting Sir Alexander?

Summoning every ounce of strength she had in her body, she lifted Saleh into her arms. She had never carried Saleh before, but in death he seemed to have become lighter.

Maybe it was his soul that once used to weigh a lot, and his knowledge.

Panting, she carried the body in her arms and made her way out of the morgue slowly, to the waiting Amber outside the morgue.

She loved being a body thief.

Gingerly, she laid Saleh down on the cold marble slab in the underground cavern. In the chaos of restoring the palace, no one had seen her creep into the Jehannan palace with a large bundle on her back. Neither did she encounter any obstacles as entered the cavern that used to house the Sacred Stone and Sacred Twins.

The instructions said somewhere deep underground, cold and dark, she thought, wiping the sweat from her brow. This place is the most secret in the entire palace, and nobody can come in, so I am relatively safe and undisturbed.

Dropping the bag onto the floor, she combed through the contents to retrieve those items that she needed. She had stolen the necessary ingredients for the spell from various rooms in the palace, but no one had noticed anything.

I have to follow the instructions exactly.

She opened the musty book and placed it flat on the marble slab beside Saleh. Taking pieces of wood from the bag, she threw a lit candle into the pile of wood, which instantly caught fire. Facing the roaring bonfire, she slowly added the ingredients to feed the fire.

The leaves of the deadly nightshade…to build a connection with the dead. The flames turned black as the leaves were rapidly consumed in the fire.

A single plant of henbane…to call out to the dead and bid them return. The flames glowed for a moment with an eerie purple light as the plant was burnt.

Monkshood…to reverse the effects of death. The flames hissed and leapt up towards her as she added the monkshood, taking a step back to avoid being burnt.

Ground oleander blossoms…to bring back the colour into the cheeks of the dead. The flames changed colour from black to a vibrant hue of purple, with pink and violet nuances.

Finally, two pieces of deadly amanita…a curse to the living, but a blessing to the dead…to bring back the lost life of the deceased. There was a loud roar as a black phoenix seemed to rise from the flames, before everything became calm and serene again, almost as though she had not done anything.

Now for the last part. To complete the spell, she had to take three drops of her blood and drip it into the waiting flames. As the book had so aptly up it, she had to 'donate some of her life to the dead, so that the blood would serve as a cornerstone to anchor the life in the body'.

Taking a deep breath, she unsheathed her shamshir. To accomplish a daunting task, sacrifice was always needed. When she had wanted to merge the Sacred Twins, she had to chain her soul to the Sacred Weapon. Thus, if she wanted to revive Saleh, she would need to give three drops of her blood as a bargaining item.

"What the heck do you think you are doing?" An angry voice called out from the darkness behind her. A hand shot out from behind her and wrestled her shamshir from her grip, flinging it away to the side of the cavern. Another hand clutched her wrist in a crushing grip, fingernails biting into her flesh.

She cried out. "Joshua! Let go of me!" she hissed. His musky scent made him easy to identify, even without looking at his face.

He tightened his grip around her wrist. "Not until you know the error of your ways," he said with gritted teeth.

"What do you know?" She retorted scornfully. "You don't even have any idea what I am doing."

He dragged her away forcefully from the burning bonfire. "Look Marisa. I know you miss your friend a lot, but you cannot try and reverse death and bring him back to life! Life doesn't work that way!"

"He's not just a friend." She struggled. "He was the best friend I had in my life and let go of me!"

His face was grim. "And just because of that you are going to cast dark magic and attempt to resurrect him? You don't even know how to perform magic, how are you going to control the magic you unleashed?"

"I will have a way," she replied stubbornly. "You don't want me to resurrect Saleh because you are jealous of him! You didn't like it that he hugged me and professed his love that day in front of you, and thus you don't want him to revive!"

A vein throbbed in his temple. "That's nonsense, Marisa. I hardly wanted him to die anymore than you do. I just don't want you to make a mistake of no-return."

"It's not a mistake!" She shouted. "Everyone misses him and everyone wants him back alive. How can you say it's a mistake to resurrect him?"

"It's not your intention that is a mistake! It's your method!" He yelled. "Haven't you ever wondered why people mourn for their loved ones after their deaths, but no one asks to resurrect them even though it's possible? It's because resurrection is evil, Marisa, evil! Do you know what you were doing when you nearly gave your blood to the fire? You were almost selling your soul to the devil, Marisa! Why did we ask to burn all of Lyon's books? It's because it was evil, it corrupts mankind, and we don't want another person to end up tragically like him!"

She folded her arms around her. "I'm different."

"Lyon was the greatest necromancer in Grado, what makes you think that you can handle whatever that will come?" He continued. "Why don't you understand? When you nearly gave your blood, you were nearly giving half of your life away to the devil. Do you know what will happen? You'll become another lackey of the devil, and so will Saleh. Is that what you want?"

She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. He was right, and she was wrong. Very nearly, she had set out on a path of no return. But all she had wanted to do was to revive Saleh, how could something so innocent be so wrong sometimes?

"Marisa, let it go…" His voice was gentle as he took her in his arms. "There are some things in life that we cannot change, no matter how much we desire it to be different.

Let it go…The words breezed past her ears mournfully. Would she ever be able to let go of the past, let go of the dream of opening a cherry patisserie with Saleh? There were some things that were so deeply etched in one's memory that no matter how hard one shook their heads, it was impossible to pretend as though nothing had happened.

How do I let it go when I have spent the last decade of my life this way?

A tear fell, then another. Is there really no way for me to fulfill my dream any longer? Is there really no way for me to bring Saleh back to life? Why…

"Let it go…" Joshua patted her back, as though he was comforting a little child. "You don't have to remember the past. It'll only make yourself miserable. Even if your friend is gone, you still have other friends who will love you and take care of you. You still have me."

She smiled bitterly. Just how reliable were the rest of them?

He misinterpreted her smile. "Well then, let's bring your friend back to the morgue, shall we? He deserves a grand funeral, as do all the other heroes who perished in the battle. That's the most we can do for him, but that's also the best that we can do for him."

She nodded. He could hardly offer any other words of comfort; he had not known Saleh intimately, and thus he could hardly imagine how much Saleh meant to her.

Nothing more. None of them could do anything more for Saleh.

Her heart sank.

Nothing more.

_

* * *

_

**This author has nothing to say except that she is tired. Yawn.**


	29. Shackles of Shackles

**Shackles of Shackles**

_Because after everything that life has thrown at you, every chain that has bound you to the depth of that bottomless pit of despair and grief, every single form of constraint that exists in reality and the imagination, you realise that these shackles, have shackles themselves as well._

_All you have to do is exploit them, and free yourself._

* * *

Here I was, walking along the pebbled roads of Jehanna, the one leading away from the ring of mountains.

No, I was not mad or delirious. Truly, I was free once more, and I could hardly describe how marvelous it felt to be in control of your own life once more.

I had hardly anything of value in my bag except for a small bag of gold. I had the clothes on my back, as well as a drab robe that would suffice as a change of clothing until I near civilization again, some dried food stolen from the kitchens, and my trusty shamshir.

I never expected to regain my freedom so easily. Always, I had expected to wait until Joshua's coronation, or whenever he decided to release me. But guess what? It wasn't even a challenge to become a free person.

It all began unexpectedly, when Queen Ismaire decided to send us, which would refer to Joshua and I, to the royal summer palace, tucked in the recesses of the kingdom in the valley of a ring of mountains. She said something about wanting us to forge a loving relationship before Joshua ascends the throne, which was perfectly fine with me, because that would only be the case when hell froze over, which didn't seem like anytime soon. Then she sent us off on Winchester and Amber, together with an entire army of soldiers, cooks, seamstresses, servants and even a professional masseuse, whatever we need the last person for.

Everyone was excited. The sun was shining, the roads were clean. Grado had been smashed and peace was restored. Everyone who participated in the war effort was duly rewarded with money and compensated for their losses. Gerik was named Imperial Weaponry Inspector, while Tethys became Senior Court Dancer. Ewan was awarded the title of Royal Magic Apprentice, and had hopes of becoming Minister for Magic and Healing someday. Saleh…was forgotten.

Forgotten, just like that.

They built a bit of a marble memorial for all the soldiers who had died and conducted a mass funeral cum burial. Everyone in attendance shed a few tears, some crocodile tears, others more genuine. They hired a cleaner to sweep the place every day and ensure that no vandals raided the tombs (as though they had even placed anything of value within the tombs that anyone would want to steal) and that was all.

The man who had given up everything in his life to save me and save Jehanna, was forgotten and now buried under layers of sand, gravel and soil. They even forgot to gave him a grand funeral (as Joshua promised), just threw him in like all the other victims of the war into a pre-dug hole in the ground with his coffin. And even the coffin was merely of cheap birch wood, plain, simple and still covered with the pungent smell of birch sap. For his heroic actions, did he not deserve something better?

When they had promised a grand funeral, I expected something like grandiose coffins made of white polished marble with golden engraved inscriptions citing their heroic deeds, with many people in attendance mourning, and large bouquets of flowers to see off the dead for their last journey.

But no one cared. No one cared except me. I suppose I could hardly blame Gerik, Tethys and Ewan for not remembering. They were inundated with duties and work after taking up offices in the palace. But Queen Ismaire? Joshua? They _promised_.

Of course, as the wise old men living in obscure mountaintops always said, promises can be broken.

How astute.

But everyone else was in high spirits, so like the lost sheep I had turned into ever since I first entered the palace, I plastered a small smile on my face and wandered alongside them, trying to admire the scenery.

I said trying, because it was spring, and the landscape was dotted with cherry trees in full bloom. Every time I spied a cherry tree from where I sat on horseback, my heart would involuntarily clench, tightening till I nearly tumbled off the horse in pain. The landscape evoked so many memories in me that it was nearly impossible for me to admire the spring.

But no one else noticed. Because no one else knew the significance of the cherry trees. Even Joshua, he was too wrapped up in the euphoria of having a break, that he didn't notice my strained expression, even though I was right beside him.

And so our entourage journeyed into the depth of the mountain and reached the secluded holiday villa built amidst the ring of mountains. Personally I didn't like it, whereas everyone else 'ohh'ed and 'ahh'ed over the palatial mansion. If enemies were to storm this place, all they had to do was stand on top of the mountains and lo and behold, we would be annihilated before we could even blink.

But the colossal palace was not without its little luxuries that made me admire it, despite the appreciation being rather grudging. First and foremost, its amenities were superb. They had an all-natural hot spring, built-in heaters for every room via underground heating systems, as well as an excellent courtyard complete with an abundance of bamboos and willows. Next, it was secluded, meaning that there were few disturbances of any kind, which was very pleasant. Then, the biggest advantage of all, there were few servants. Ever since that encounter with Belle, I had heightened my suspicions towards people waiting hand and foot on my everyday affairs.

After being toured around the villa, I was invited to this candlelight dinner with Joshua. I was _so_ thrilled by the idea that I decided to arrive fifteen minutes late on purpose, just to miss the appetizer course.

Unfortunately, as I had deduced a long time ago, Joshua was not a fool.

"What are you doing, Joshua?" I asked in a huff, in the midst of combing my hair after bathing. The robe hung loosely around my frame, still wet from the water dripping from my hair. I frowned at the water stains on the silk. Before going to dinner, I would have to change into something else.

"Watching my wife attending to her coiffure," he replied casually, leaning against the door with a smirk on his face. "Is that a problem for you?"

"No," I replied with as much nonchalance as I could muster as he strode towards me and placed his hands on my shoulders, peering into the mirror. "Get out. I'll be there in a minute."

He smirked. "Oh no, Marisa. I know what you are up to, and I am going to make sure I spend every minute of that quality time during dinner admiring your enchanting profile."

I shook his hands away from my shoulders. "Take your hands off me."

He grinned. "Do I make you nervous?" he whispered in my ear softly.

I was not even going to bother answering that statement. I tied my hair in a half-up hairstyle as I usually did and retrieved my shamshir from where it was propped up against the wall. "Get. Out," I demanded, pointing the blade in his face and a finger at the door. "I need to change."

He took the hint and walked out, threatening to barge in if I wasn't out yet in three minutes.

I slinked out just as he was about to break down the door, and we went for our dinner. He was in an extraordinarily good mood, while I was fighting to keep my boredom and sheer annoyance from showing on my face.

Who the heck still ate _candlelight_ dinners? It was all oil lamps now.

They served lots of food, and by the seventh plate I was feeling bloated. I started to feel sick when the servant informed me that we were not even half-way through their twenty-course dinner, and all I had been eating were merely the appetizers.

Thanks to the free flow of wine, Joshua got drunk by the ninth course, very nearly cutting the plate in half instead of the steak. His complexion turned florid, and his words slurred. He grew more flirtatious, and he moved over to my side and leant against me as he emptied glass after glass of red wine.

Men. I shook my head. Always getting drunk.

When finally the dessert was served (vanilla crème brulee with chocolate ice cream and raspberry sauce), Joshua was already sound asleep against my shoulder.

Or should I say, Joshua was in a drunken stupor so severe that it bordered on unconsciousness.

Shaking my head at his imprudent decision to drink heavily, I attempted to help him up. I managed to prop him up against the wall with much difficulty, but before I could call for the attendants his sword had fallen from his belt.

It hit against the edge of the wooden table, and made a hollow ringing sound, just like silver on metal.

Bending, I retrieved his sword and I was about to fasten the sword back onto Joshua's belt when I stopped. Sword hilts were usually made of metal, like silver. That was normal. But usually sword hilts were made of _solid_ metal, and thus when they hit against other hard objects they made _solid _ringing noises, not _hollow _ringing noises.

Leaving Joshua lying comfortably on the ground, I tested my theory using my own shamshir. It sounded solid enough. Then I swopped my shamshir for Joshua's sword and repeated the test. It sounded like a hollow silver bell being struck.

I tapped a fingernail on the hilt. It sounded hollow.

Perhaps it contained a secret compartment, somewhere. I was amused. Certainly Joshua would be the first to think up of such an eccentric idea as to hide something in his _sword_. Fumbling, I hunted for the switch, or whatever that would cause the secret compartment to open, that was, if there was a secret compartment in the first place.

After subjecting the sword hilt to several minutes of intense violation, I gave up. There was probably nothing in the hilt, and I was wasting my time.

That was when I accidentally slammed the sword against the table again, and the red jewel on the hilt of the sword pressed against the wood with considerate amount of force.

Very slowly, the hilt shifted, and the tip fell off. I could almost hear the clockwork turning in this piece of ingenious contraption. Picking up the sword, I peered into the hole that was created.

There was a piece of paper.

A piece of paper? I was annoyed. After all that time that I had spent trying to figure the thing out, all it yielded was a piece of paper? Still, it was better than nothing, and I tilted the sword so that the parchment fell out onto my lap.

It was pretty new, judging by the lack of yellow stains on the paper, and it was fastened by an elaborate ring, which I recognized, with some horror, denial and shock, to be the very wedding ring that I had so happily thrown into the fireplace after my first major argument with Joshua.

Did he…dig through the ashes just to find the ring? The poor man! The ring must have been worth a fortune for him to attempt such endeavors! Oh, and I refuse absolutely to believe that he retrieved the ring out of love. That was pure nonsense in its crystallized form.

I slid the parchment from its confining fastener, and unrolled it on the table on whichever plot of space I could find amidst the dishes and plates.

Oathpaper.

It was the oathpaper.

THE oathpaper.

I refused to believe my eyes, and I rubbed them several times until my eyes hurt from rubbing, then I looked at the large words on the parchment again.

It still read oathpaper.

I had found it! The oathpaper that I had been betting my entire freedom on was in my hands! Liberation was imminent and victory had never tasted so sweet as I stood up abruptly with a smile brightening my face.

With trembling hands and an unclear mind, I torched the paper in the candle flame. It caught fire quickly, and I didn't even notice that it was all in ashes until the corner I was holding onto also caught fire and burnt a blister on my thumb.

Momentarily, it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off my back, and my limbs were no longer in chains. I was free. Free!

The smell of burning must have disturbed Joshua, for he turned and frowned in his sleep.

Joshua…he would be the other problem, wouldn't he? If I were to leave him forever…

A sharp pain stabbed through my heart, causing tears to well up in my eyes. After all that we had endured together, all the drama that we had lived through and all the times that we spent with each other, leaving him was…heartbreaking.

Where did that word come from? Didn't my heart already break so many times that it was in such small shards that cannot even be pieced together?

I stifled a noisy sob that threatened to erupt. It would probably wake Joshua, and the last thing I wanted was to disturb his sleep.

As I stood there weeping like the helpless idiot that I was, I suddenly came to the epiphany, stupid as it was.

I was blind, okay? I was always rather blind. Bad genes, I suppose.

And thus I came to the concluding statement of my little heart-wrenching epiphany.

You can't stop loving someone.

If you ever stopped loving someone for some reason, it means that you had never loved him or her in the first place. There was no way to run from love, it would always come back to you eventually. When you fell in love, you had already given a part of you away, and regardless whether the other party accepts or declines your affections, that part of you had already been lost to you forever, and you could never ever get it back again.

Joshua gave another grunt as he snuggled against the carpet, breathing slowly.

How was I ever going to leave this man? In one year, he had let me experience more of life than what I had gained from all my past twenty years without him beside me. He meant too much to me for me to just let go.

But…he would hardly matter only to me. He still had Natasha who would be waiting faithfully for him, and his young son Henry would still be waiting for the day he could have a father. He had a family, a throne, a country waiting for him, all needing to depend on him.

As for me? Hardly any living soul would miss me. My father was dead. Saleh had died. Gerik, Tethys and Ewan all had important duties in the imperial palace and a glorious life planned out neatly ahead of them. There was no one left in this world who would care for me, much less provide for me. Would anyone even remember who I was?

It was only a matter of choice: I could leave now, quietly and without any fanfare or scandal, or I could wait for the inevitable expulsion after Joshua's coronation.

I swallowed, but straightened indignantly. If I were to be chased out of the palace, I would leave by myself. There would be little need for them to express their false sympathies and other forms of promises (which would be broken definitely).

I crept silently around the palace, gathering all that I needed and tying them in a silk bundle. Grabbing my shamshir, I cast one last lingering look at my sleeping ex-husband, and stole out of the room, out of the mansion and out of the ring of mountains. Hardly anyone would notice my disappearance. I was too insignificant a character.

I hadn't even thought of what I would become after I leave. With so few possessions and so little money, the best bet I had was so seek out the nearest town and hit the arena, where I would definitely excel and earn enough money in two days to last me for the rest of my life.

Heck, I was the legendary girl who pitted herself against a fully-armed general with a silver lance while carrying only my shamshir. The wager, set by the astounded arena manager, had been two thousand gold. He was in disbelief that I would challenge his fiercest and mightiest general. He was in _utter _disbelief when I emerged from the ring without a single scratch and in perfect condition to best some more of his warriors.

Well, they banned me afterwards, on the account that I was too aggressive. Sheesh, why don't they just admit that I was too good for their warriors?

Sore losers.

This time I would be smarter. I would just fight enough to win enough money for the week before I stopped. The money would cover my bills for accommodation at the posh inns I would have to stay in (after staying in the palace for so long, I don't believe I can still sleep on coarse bug-infested linen), pay for my meals and allow me to purchase whatever necessities I need. Maybe I could even start saving money in a little pouch or something, just in case of rainy days. And I could take a few coins and buy a bouquet to visit Saleh whenever my wanderings brought me back near the capital.

I closed my eyes as I walked, listening to the crunch of the gravel under my feet and the distant cries of eagles in the air.

I had a life before everything happened, and maybe, going back to that life would be better for everyone.

I might even see Joshua again, who knows.

Until then, I could probably just treat everything as a dream.

Because you know what, no matter how hard you tried, how many promises you made, how many pieces of oathpaper you hid, all of it were just words, words on a form of medium. With a simple spark from a candle, all the promises would be razed to the ground.

It was just like a grand beautiful city of houses and streets. It looked good, sounded great and appeared solid. But guess what, someone lit a match one day and there was a huge conflagration and the next thing everyone knew, the entire city was razed to the ground, leaving only black ash.

I smiled.

No matter how strong the shackles are, they were still external bindings. No one could keep me by force for long.

No one.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Firstly, to address this chapter, yes, it's a bit short, and not exactly the best of all chapters. I did it in 1st person because the sequel will be also in 1st person. The sequel will be continued from this fic onwards, like another chapter kind of thing. I think leaving with a rational decision. I consider Marisa to be someone with pride and only spineless people will still stick with a husband if he is blatantly philandering, right?**

**Next, to address several queries I received...dark magic is not evil, I agree, but dark magic has the ability to corrupt, for it somehow absorbs your soul, like Nergal and Brammimond. It leaves you like an empty shell. As for resurrection, I pictured it as a parallel of Nergal's morph-creating process in FE 7, and morphs generally do not have feelings or anything. **

**Yeah, this will go on. Going to introduce a new character in the next chapter. I know recently my writing is out of sorts. Forgive me. Traumatising experiences I scarcely want to mention surfaced in my life. These two chapters have been horrid, I understand. The next one will be much better, I hope. XD**

**Till then. Love, snowylavendermist**


	30. Freedom

**Sequel Part 1**

**Freedom**

_1. The right to do or say what you want without anyone stopping you._

_2. The state of being able to do what you want, without anything stopping you._

_3. The state of not being a prisoner or slave._

* * *

I stood in the middle of the town square and admired the capital that I had grown up in. Not much had changed, in my absence of three years. The rows of houses still stood neat and quaint, with gleaming bronze knockers and shiny terracotta tiles for the roof. Children scampered around playing in the streets, some barefooted even, giving of the air of blissful innocence that could be perceived only with kids. The street vendors peddled their wares in small stores alongside the roads, some with shops, some just little pushcarts.

People were staring at me with opened-mouth astonishment. Wait, they were staring in my direction with bewilderment, not at me.

Well, that was some relief. And some much-appreciated change.

I looked around and found him prostrated on the cobbled floor, crawling after a young woman who had a similar hair colour and hairdo as I did.

"Please….please…I'm begging you…" he pleaded, moving like an insect across the floor after the shocked and completely confounded young woman.

I sighed heavily. When one's eyes are on the ground, one usually cannot distinguish people from people. "Emm…Darius? I'm here."

Darius, on hearing my voice, lifted his head and looked around wildly. When he spied me, he hurriedly came over, knees scrapping against the ground. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a several large gold coins, which he dumped before a flower seller. Arming himself with a large bouquet of vibrant red roses, he fumbled in his pocket until he took out a small box.

Oh no…I groaned inwardly. Not again…and in the middle of the capital's town square with so many people to gawk at my embarrassment as well!

He seemed to have completely missed the look of horror and awkwardness on my face. He went down heavily on one knee with a loud 'thump'. He opened the velvet box and smiled hopefully. "Larissa, the Crimson Flash, will you, for the 104th time, be my wife?" He asked.

This was one of those moments when you wished either the sky would collapse and cover you, or the ground would open up and swallow you, or you could just vaporize into thin air like alcohol, disappear like someone just cast a very successful warp spell and melt into a puddle of liquid so that no one can see your face.

Just for the record, I changed my name to Larissa. Crimson Flash was the title others gave me. Because I, apparently, moved so fast when battling that I only resemble a flash of red light, everyone gave me the name of Crimson Flash. Impressive? Not really. Considering that in the zenith of his career my father was known as THE Assassin, mine could be considered pathetic.

I could almost imagine Father's scornful face if he ever heard about my title. "Ha!" He would say haughtily. "You call that a title? That's pitiful! Go and train more, girl, until you can hold a candle to my name!"

And thus I still trained at all the major arenas, continually trying to improve myself. And _there_ was where I met Darius, only son and sole heir of some wealthy merchant who supplied seafood to the nobility and the royal family using his middleman status between fishermen and consumers. In short, he was _rich_.

It started out pretty okay for the both of us. We sparred, and I won, but he wasn't too bad with a sword either, only his strokes were a little on the sloppy side and thus they were easy to deflect. He cried foul (probably a habit cultivated from the spoiling by his parents) and we sparred again. Again, I won, and again, he nullified the result by informing me that I cheated somewhere (although he couldn't identity where) and we sparred again. And the routine went on for ten times a day, for an entire week.

If it had not been for the fact that he paid me a red gem (or a blue gem when he felt generous) per match, I would have snickered at his spoilt attitude and left. But it was good money, just when I needed it too, and thus I put up with him and his funny attitudes.

After a week of intense fighting (that described his point of view, I felt completely relaxed as I deflected stroke after stroke), he admitted defeat and proclaimed his utmost admiration for me and requested me to be his tutor.

Obviously, having just escaped from the clutches of wealthy and powerful people, I valued my freedom over money and declined.

He was persistent. After five rejections, he decided that my personality fit the girl of his dreams and decided to propose.

We scarcely knew each other and before I could stop him he was down on one knee with a diamond ring he got from who-knows-where.

After I rejected him again and again he started following me around, trotting all the way from where I met him around Jehanna, giving me heart attacks by dropping to the floor and proposing at the least appropriate places.

He once tried proposing in the _middle _of the arena, in the _middle_ of a fight that I was having with this warrior with beefy muscles and a gigantic axe, and he _refused_ to get up out of harm's way until I accepted his proposal. I had a nightmare that day trying to defend both of us from one lumbering warrior, whose axe looked like the kind used to slaughter wyverns.

I digressed. Blinking, I looked down at the man looking up hopefully at me, his face shining in awe and wonderment as though I was one of the saint's personal seraphs from heaven, which I was not, by the way.

"Okay," I sighed. "When would you ever stop following me and proposing to me?"

He cocked his head like a puppy and thought for a moment, face scrunched up in concentration. "When you get married to someone else…" he said slowly at last. "But you won't right? You'll marry me right? Me and only me right?"

He was not helping. My last marriage had been a disaster at best and complete apocalypse at worst. I had no wish, no wish at all, to bind myself down with marriage vows ever again in my entire life.

I stared at the ring. It was a simple band of gold, with a HUGE diamond. I had never seen such a large diamond and I had no idea where he sourced all his jewellery pieces but one thing was for certain. From the time of his first proposal till now, his diamonds had at least doubled in size. Tripled, in fact. The latest one in his hand was around the size of the fingernail of my pinky finger.

"Could you stand up?" I hissed desperately. "People are staring at us." In fact, staring was an understatement. They were openly gaping at the drama that was unfolding in front of them, looking as though they were in a theatre watching a blockbuster play.

"I won't stand until you acquiesce to my demands!" he declared in a grand voice so that everyone could hear him.

I groaned. Well if that was the case, he could suit himself. I still had a lot to do, some of which included visiting Saleh and getting a new bunch of elixirs, and perhaps two new daggers, if my finances permitted. I walked up to the astonished flower seller, who was still staring with a stony expression at the five gold coins.

The old woman probably had never seen so much money in her life, heck.

Slightly embarrassed, I picked a bunch of chrysanthemums (it was spring, and there were golden chrysanthemums, and don't ask me how they did it; probably magic) and handed her several silver coins. "Will these do?"

The old woman stared straight at me, and nodded with the same stony expression on her face.

"Darius…" I hissed as I walked away with the chrysanthemums in hand. "You're starting to scare people. Can you not-"

"Announcement! Announcement!" A pompous old man astride an old stallion shouted in a wheezy voice, waving the parchment with the royal seal in his hand. "Excuse me…"

I stepped aside hurriedly. I had no intention to burst my spleen or puncture my kidney because I was run over by an ancient horse.

"Ahem!" The old announcer cleared his throat. "Our esteemed Queen Ismaire has ordered a royal masquerade ball to be held at the Royal Jehannan Palace next Monday at seven o'clock in the evening so that the esteemed Prince Joshua may choose a bride. All eligible young ladies, regardless of nationality, are welcomed to attend." He rolled up the scroll again and tucked in into his sleeve, riding away on the old stallion.

Instantly, there were excited chatters.

Joshua still hadn't gotten himself a wife? I was vaguely amused. Given his personality, I would have expected him to have married at least thrice after I left. Ahh…but he was indeed almost full of surprises. Perhaps Natasha was still rejecting him? It was certainly possible.

"Do you intend to go, Larissa, light of my life and jewel of my palm?" Darius inched towards me hopefully, finally standing.

I frowned at his inappropriate terms of endearment and affection. "Probably not." As much as I wanted to see _him_ again, I could not risk seeing _him_ without suffering heartache for the rest of my life.

"Why?" Darius whined, screeching like a raven. "You should go! You're pretty and famous! No, you're beautiful and a celebrity! You need to go! You'll light up the entire ballroom. I can assure you if you go, Jehanna will not need to light any candles that night. Your sheer radiance will overpower everyone!"

I arched an eyebrow. Okay…what a weird form of encouragement. Why did it feel as though it did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to have achieved? "It's a masked ball; you're not supposed to see who your partner is."

"Of course," he replied in a tone as though he had remembered all along. "So are you going?"

Going? I hesitated to give a definite answer. I certainly wanted to go, just for the sake of seeing Joshua again, but at the same time I certainly did _not_ want to go, for the sake of preserving whatever piece of heart I have left that was unbroken. And if I were recognized, it would become very awkward for all of us.

But it was a masked ball right? If I wore my hair differently, dressed myself up a little and kept my mask on to conceal my face, he would hardly be able to recognize me. After all, there were quite a lot of ladies with my hair colour, and my hair had grown longer in the three years. My skin had tanned and now I resembled a bronze statue instead of the fashionable tofu sculpture.

"So are you going?" Darius persisted like an eager puppy begging for a treat. "Are you? Are you? Are you?"

I glanced at him. For a moment, I could have sworn that he was going to grow furry and spout a little tail right before my face. "I suppose I will," I said with trepidation in my voice.

"Yay!" He leapt up. He seemed even more excited about going to the ball than I did, even though his role was strictly that of a chaperone, or an escort, whichever he preferred to act as that day. "We need to get you dresses, shoes, jewellery, fans, masks…" He began ticking off the items on an invisible checklist, counting with his fingers.

I sighed. What had I just gotten myself into?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Darius is utterly adorable and lovable and spoilt. Sigh.**

**He's an OC, yes.**

**Bored.**


	31. Liberation

**Liberation**

_The state of being freed from the control of somebody else or something else._

* * *

Had you ever done something that you knew was going to cost you dear and you were going to tear your hair out later because you just hated yourself for succumbing to that extraordinary something that you just couldn't resist?

If you had, you would know exactly how I felt as I stood before the full-length mirror in my inn room, which was cluttered with all the materials I needed for the masked ball (that was in Darius' perspective of course) and sighed at my own pathetic reflection.

Darius, that rich fellow with nothing better to do on his hands, had arrived three hours ago with a huge _carriage_ of items, namely dresses, shoes, jewellery, sashes, cosmetics, perfumes and such. He even remembered to bring a pink frilly fan, which I absolutely would _not_ be using.

But what could I do? Everything was forked out of his own pocket, or rather his parents' pockets, and I had no say on how he wanted to spend his finances. If he would like to bestow his entire family fortune to me, I would gladly accept the overly generous but very useful present.

I glared at myself in the mirror. "I can't wear this," I said finally, turning around to face Darius. "I look like a wedding cake."

He looked closely at me.

I glared at him. The dress was white, with frills, ribbons and lace sprouting from everywhere like mushrooms after the autumn showers. To top it all off, it had a ridiculous huge bow at the back tied around my waist that effectively cut off all blood circulation and a series of tiered satin that made me look effectively like a five-tiered wedding cake, complete with cream and icing.

Joy.

He caught my glare and pouted. He had openly voiced his utter adoration for this dress, and he had never expected me to oppose it with such repugnance. "But…" he protested vocally. "Tired ruffles are the hottest trend this season! Every other designer is creating these kinds of dresses. And this is the last dress!" He pointed at the mountain of dresses and frills I had just tried on, which were now piled up on the top of the bed, which was creaking from the weight of the satin and lace.

"There's still one dress," I retorted, folding my arms around my chest. I pointed at the plain black dress that lay on the bed, forgotten by him due to its absence of frills and lacey additions. It looked a bit wrinkled… "You sat on it?"

He leapt up at the annoyance in my voice, cowering. "I didn't see it there," he placated. "Come on, your bed is black, the dress is black, I've been standing for the past three hours so I accidentally sat on it." He grabbed the dress and patted out the creases with his hand. "Good thing the silk is wrinkle-free." He caught my glare. "Hey!" He protested, plucking at the starched fabric of his shirt beneath his stiff tuxedo. "I've been standing in these for the past three hours! It's not very comfortable you know!"

"Fine fine," I rolled my eyes. "Get out. I need to change."

As he closed the door, I tore the disgusting white lacey _rags_ from my body and pulled on the plain black dress, peering at my reflection. I looked…decent. Well, at least I hadn't been blinded yet. The dress was figure-clinging, and it was supposed to accentuate my curves, if any. The dress flowed all the way down to my ankles, where it fell in soft folds to allow for mobility. It was black, all black, with no embellishments, no frills and certainly no tired ruffles.

"Hey, you done yet?" Darius opened the door and his jaw dropped. "Oh my freaking gosh…" He swallowed. "Umm…okay. I hereby change my vote to this dress."

I frowned. He was so capricious sometimes that I felt hesitant to trust his judgment. I pulled over the jewellery box and riffled through the multitude of silver and gold necklaces and large jewels the size of duck eggs. "Are these your mother's?" I didn't feel comfortable wearing other people's jewellery.

He shook his head. "Nope, went and visited our family jeweler. He showed me these, and so I bought them all. Might as well buy all so as to increase the probability of buying one that actually suits your gown."

A gleam caught my eye. Delving through the gold and silver pile, I retrieved a string of pearls from the bottom of the box. The milky pearls rolled between my fingers, shining softly with the luster of the full moon.

"Here," he offered, taking the string of pearls and fastening it around my neck. "You look…too beautiful for words to describe." He straightened again, and his expression changed into the one that he wore every time he attempted something incredibly embarrassing or stupid. "You are my Adonis!" He declared, falling to the ground with a loud 'thump'.

I winced at the noise. Hopefully he didn't crack his kneecaps.

"Okay…get up," I rolled my eyes. "I get it. I still need help with the rest." I resumed examining my reflection in the mirror. The pearls gleamed, and it softened the hard lines on my face. All of a sudden, I didn't look plain anymore. It was as though someone had shrouded me with an air of gentle mystery and elegance, something which I had never attained in my life.

"Gloves, and more pearls." Darius stomped over happily, holding up a pair of black silk gloves and a matching pearl bracelet. "You don't pierce your ears?" He asked ruefully. "That's a pity. I thought the earrings where rather nice." He went and dug through the bag of his and came back with two more items.

"What are these?" I eyed the items in his hand warily.

"Your tiara," he said, cocking his head to one side. "Look, it has little lilies woven into them made of mother-of-pearl and little jewels. Such intricate craftsmanship, right? And this is your mask."

It was a fancy contraption. It covered most of my face, even my nose in fact, and only left two holes for my eyes to see through. It was white, creamy in fact, and beaded along the edges. Three white feathers sprouted from one side of the mask, giving a flamboyant air.

Seeing the reluctance on my face, Darius instantly set his glib tongue to work. "You see, it's really nice, and it will fit your dressing and all. You're decked out in black, with pearls and all, and thus you should have a nice matching mask that compliments your dress and gloves and jewellery."

I placed it over my face. He was right. It did look good.

"I knew I had good taste," he grinned smugly.

"Boasting isn't a sign of good taste," I snapped.

He winced, pulling a face. "You aren't putting any of these perfect cosmetics I bought for you?"

I raised an eyebrow. Coal for the eyebrows and red mud for my lips? Lead for my face and fermented strawberries for my cheeks? "No thanks," I said swiftly, stepping into a pair of black satin heels and making my way towards the door, attempting not to break the heels in the process.

"Hey! Wait up!" Darius shouted behind me, waving. "You forgot your fan!"

I lifted up the skirt and ran for the waiting carriage (sponsored by his parents). There was no way I was going to carry that fan.

* * *

Many of the guests had already unmasked when we arrived pretty late (all thanks to Darius' carriage, which had slow horses), and I could see that many of the most beautiful belles in Magvel had decided to try their chances at becoming the future Queen of Jehanna.

Humph. I restrained from rolling my eyes. Being the Princess of Jehanna had been an experience, but those young maidens didn't know that. Perhaps that was why they looked so happy at being here and showing off their beauty.

As I looked around, however, I realized Darius was right. Tired ruffles were the rage this season, and _everyone _was sporting them, wearing them as sleeves, bodice, petticoats, skirts and even weird satin necklaces that appeared as though they had been salvaged from the dump of a garment house. Even for people with a voluminous skirt, they still wore ruffles, completely oblivious to the fact that they ended up resembling a sixteen tier wedding cake.

That was eleven tiers taller than mine.

"Why are they all staring at us?" I hissed to Darius, who strode easily amongst the crowd, wearing a placid smile. Many of the ladies turned to stare at my dressing and whisper behind their fans, no doubt in disapproval over my rebelliousness of not following seasonal trends. Many of the gentlemen stared unabashedly as though they had never seen a black dress before.

"Is it because I look too good?" He exclaimed softly, smiling at the crowd. "Or maybe I'm famous, since my family supplies most of the seafood that they eat for breakfast lunch and dinner."

I was about to reply that most people don't make it a point to remember their seafood suppliers when he dragged me across the marble floor to the centre for a dance.

"Come on, Larisaa, dance with me." He smiled gaily. "Tonight is a night of youth and beauty for us to frivol the night away." He led me in step for a lively dance of salsa.

Having learnt the various dances three years ago during my time as Princess of Jehanna, I had no problem dancing in time with him, despite my natural clumsiness. During the dance however, I had a full view of the ballroom.

Nothing had changed. They had replaced the old chandeliers, but the design was still exactly the same, just that the new ones shone with more luster, and the crystals were teardrops instead of little spheres. The couch was still at the far end of the room, and through the crowd I could see Queen Ismaire watching the ball with gentle happiness, nodding her head regally in time to the music.

My heart clenched.

It had been three years, but nothing had changed.

Was I the only one amongst everything that had changed? I wasn't sure.

With a final spin, the dance ended, and Darius led me from the dance floor, eyes shining with joy. "Why didn't you tell me you danced?" he asked cheerily. "We could have danced all day and all night for the past year and perhaps I could have danced my way into your heart."

"Umm…no thanks," I declined politely. "Where are you dragging me off to?"

"You have to meet my supreme employer, the Prince of Jehanna!" He turned back. "Aren't you going to unmask?"

I stopped myself just in time from giving myself away. "Darius, I came to the ball as you wanted, but I am not unmasking, even if it is the prince."

He wasn't listening. "Joshua!"

Joshua? I stared in open-mouthed astonishment. Wasn't it your highness?

Joshua turned when he heard himself being called, and at that instant, my heart broke again.

He looked exactly the same, as though the three years had been three days. It was the same red hair, same smile, same crown, same posture, same expression, same eyes…and it was him, in flesh and blood, not in my dreams nor part of my fantasies. He was standing before me, alive, real and solid.

Every single ounce of heartache returned with a vengeance. But I was slightly relieved to see that he was unattached, and he had disentangled himself from the bevy of maidens that had surrounded him.

"Darius!" Joshua patted Darius on the back, as though they were good friends. "How have you been lately? Why haven't you been coming to the gambling dens anymore, huh? I lost a spectacular opponent to play cards with!"

Darius laughed heartily. "I've been too busy chasing a woman across the vast expense of Jehanna's landscape. I'm just happy she agreed to come today. Here!" He gestured to me.

Joshua turned his gaze to me. Through the mask, I was confident he could hardly see anything, but I could see everything. His gaze was so intense that I stared fixedly at his crimson eyes, unable to tear myself away. My breath caught as he moved slightly closer to me, and I was enveloped by the same musky scent he always wore around him like a cloak.

The pain…was indescribable.

If it had not been for Darius' hand, which I had been clutching in an iron grip, I would have staggered, even fallen perhaps. I forced myself to breathe normally and smiled.

"Lady, your hair colour…it is uncommon…"

I saw a flash of recognition pass through Joshua's eyes, and I froze. Had he seen through my disguise? Did he see who I really was through the mask? Did he recognize me? "Not so from where I originate, your highness," I said, making my voice slightly lower than normal.

"Oh, Joshua! Let me introduce you to the elusive prey I, the magnificent hunter, have been stalking for the past year!" Darius proclaimed flamboyantly, as though it was an achievement to be proud of. "This is Larissa, also known as the Crimson Flash for her skills in battle when wielding a sword. Larissa, this is my employer and friend, Prince Joshua of Jehanna."

_Crap. _Trust him to reveal my identity.

I curtsied, but he did not bow. Instead, he looked straight at me. "Larissa…that's a nice name."

I should have called myself Belladonna or some random obscure name.

I swallowed nervously, then attempted a small high-pitched laugh that I would never have used if not for the dire situation. "Oh, everyone says so! Even my opponents think it's a nice name! I'll have to thank my mother for giving me such a good name, right?" I shuddered from even using that voice.

Darius laughed. "My name's better."

Restraining from my normal eye roll, which would definitely give me away, I smiled sultrily and cooed. "You sure?" I asked, peering shyly at him. "Well, I think so too."

Darius looked bewildered but pleased with himself, thinking that his efforts had finally paid off. Joshua, on the other hand, frowned slightly. "Well then Lady Larissa, nicely met. I hope you enjoy your night at the ball." The disciplined and formal tone suggested that he had believed my act, and he no longer believed he recognized me.

My skin was breaking out in goosebumps as cringed silently at my previous display of emotions and affection. "The same to you, your highness," I replied, sweeping him another curtsy.

There was a loud roar. "Darius, my boy! Your highness!" A large bulky man dressed in a tight-fitting purple tuxedo (where do they even make such abominable clothes?) tramped towards us, on the verge of shaking the ground. He engulfed Darius in a hug. "Long time no see, boy! How are you? And who is this?"

Darius choked silently on the crushing embrace and recovered swiftly enough to introduce me to his Uncle Horace, who apparently was the royal supplier for fresh fruits and vegetables. "Umm…so I'll just go and talk to my Uncle at the couch. Pick you up at nine, Larissa!"

There was an awkward silence as I stood nervously beside Joshua. If it had been a normal situation, I would have been clutching at the folds of my dress, but this dress had no folds, except those around my feet.

"Do you…want to dance?" He smiled hesitantly, proffering a hand. "I mean, would you favour me with a dance?"

Even after so long…he was still unchanged, the same old Joshua who didn't care about royal rules at all and etiquette and such. I nodded, and took his hand.

Our hands touched, and I nearly gasped at the warmth of his hand. It was all too familiar, and I was biting down hard on my lip just to stop myself from sighing at the smallest touch between us.

He led me gallantly to the dance floor, and placed a hand around my waist. The orchestra began playing, a sad mournful tune that could only be a slow waltz.

Why? I asked despairing in my mind. Why did it have to be, of all the dances, songs and music, a waltz with a sad melody?

I swallowed as my heart started racing. I began breathing in shallow gasps of air. He smiled at me in the same casual manner, and my heart fluttered and broke at the same time. Here I was, three years after I burnt the oathpaper, dancing a romantic waltz with my ex-husband, whom I had grown to love but cannot have, in the ballroom of the palace where I had once lived.

The irony was enough to let a bitter smile form on my lips.

"You are skilled with a sword, Lady Larissa?" Joshua asked, breaking the silence as we moved slowly across the ballroom.

I nodded, ensured that my voice was disguised and replied. "I am not exceptionally proficient, but I have had fortune by my side."

His normal expression broke into a characteristic grin. "It's always Lady Luck, as they say, right?" The gambler in him surfaced once more, before he remembered his princely duties and added hurriedly. "But of course, work and talent are still, the governing factors in success and most other issues."

I bit back a smile at his casual attitude. "I agree, your highness."

"Ah well, someday would you like to spar with me?" He asked avidly. "I always enjoyed a good spar, and I…have met few good female swordsman." He paused. "None actually…save one."

Under the cover of the mask, I flushed. He was referring to me. "The pleasure would be mine, your highness."

He nodded, but before he could open his mouth to reply, there was a shrill scream and cacophony at the end of the ballroom. People jostled, and some fell.

"What was that?" Joshua frowned, staring alertly at the direction of the disturbance.

As though an answer to his question, a man dashed out from the crowd of people, waving a silver axe. Roaring he ran towards Joshua, silver axe above his head, preparing to end the life of the Prince of Jehanna.

Joshua reached for his sword quickly, but not quick enough. I had already drawn the sword from the scabbard hanging around his belt, and instantly I felt a rejuvenated sense of strength and dexterity, as well as a calm and placating sensation.

Green light flashed before my eyes as I drove the blade deep into the assailant's heart, sidestepping the spurt of blood deftly to ensure that I didn't dirty the dress. If it had been my own robes, I could have scarcely cared. But it was Darius' and if anything happened to it, I had absolutely no money to pay for the damages.

The blade seemed to pulse with a living energy as the man roared and clawed at the blade, before finally sinking onto the ground in a bleeding heap.

I flushed in triumph. Even in such a constricting and confining dress, I could still triumph with my fast reaction and skills with a sword.

Only when I turned around to face Joshua did I notice something was wrong.

It was his face. His face clouded over and darkened, as though I had done something extremely untoward. His eyes gleamed like two rubies, sharp and piercing. His body was tense, and he looked like a panther ready to spring and attack.

I raised a hand instinctively to my face. No, the mask was still tied securely.

I looked down at my hands. No, I had not suffered any grievous injuries that I did not know of.

I looked further down, and realization finally hit me. Every part of me froze, except my hand, which just wanted to drop the blade in my grip.

Blazing with a cold fire, Draupnir shone in my hand.

_As long as you live, Draupnir will respond to your call and your call only._The words of the guardian of the Sacred Twins echoed in my ears.

Oops.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Ahhh...this chapter is much better. More decent, at least.**

**Teehee. School's starting tomorrow **

**it's ending anyway, the story I mean XD**

**Love snowylavendermist**


	32. Incarceration

**Incarceration**

_The state of being put in prison or in another place where one cannot escape._

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It was one of those times when you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. In fact, even that was too mild. It was one of those times when you wished that you could just vaporize from the earth that instant with your name permanently erased from everyone's memory and all traces of your existence vanished along with your disappearance.

As I stood there like an idiot, blinking at the glowing sword in my hand, mask still on my face, dead body beside me, I cursed my own stupidity and rashness to the gates of Saint Latona's high heaven. In one swipe, I had given up my own identity, and now was that awkward situation that I had dreaded before I even considered coming here.

"Oh my gosh!" Darius appeared, clutching his chest. "An assassin!" He saw me standing with the sword in my hand. "Larissa! You saved Joshua! Are you hurt anyone? Did the assassin punch you anywhere? Did he bruise your eye? Did he? He didn't? Good! You sure?"

I waved him aside with a sigh. There was no way anyone could bruise my eye; I wore a stiff mask. "I'm still alive, am I not?"

A large man lumbered over. "Prince Joshua, you hurt anywhere? No? Sorry, the mad fellow dashed in from nowhere by the back gate, knocked the guards out. Sir Alexander's son, they say."

Gerik. I bit my lip to prevent myself from calling out to him. I hid behind Darius so that Gerik wouldn't see me, and focused instead on the dead corpse.

So this was Sir Alexander's son. I still remembered that traitor perfectly well. So now, I had killed both the father and the son.

Joy.

"I'll ask the servants to come and clean up," Gerik left, broadsword swinging from his hand. His glance swept across the crowd, but missed me.

Bless Saint Latona. For once in my life she helped me.

The orchestra started playing again, and everyone resumed their normal activities, as though nothing had happened. Everyone, of course, skirted where the servants were busy mopping up the blood and removing the corpse, but other than that, everyone acted nonchalant about the fact that a man had just died.

"Lady Larissa, I am impressed." Joshua walked up to me, extending his hand.

The moment Draupnir left my hand, the glowing stopped, and the hilt shifted again into the silver hilt of Audhulma.

"I told you she was good," Darius glowed in pride.

"Well then," Joshua turned to me. His eyes showed not a trace of recognition, and his smile was polite and diplomatic. "I have to thank my savior, and I have nothing to offer so…would you favour me with another dance?" He held out his hand in invitation.

I glanced at Darius, but he had already gone away, probably to find his Uncle Horace again. Left with no other alternative, I hesitantly accepted offer, taking his outstretched hand.

The orchestra swung into action, playing a slow sweet tune.

I winced. I hated sarabande. It was too slow for my liking, and the music was…staring into the eyes of my ex-husband, I found the music very appropriate but absolutely not to my liking at all.

We started off slowly, twirling across the dance floor. He led, I followed. We glided across the floor, oblivious of the other couples around her. The spotlight shone on us, and trailed our path across the polished marble floor.

My heart clenched so tightly that I found it difficult to breathe normally. Being in such close proximity with him brought back all of the memories I had once tried to forget. I recalled lying beside him in our bed, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. I remembered sparring with him, and getting angry at him when he failed to show up or resorted to trickery to win the spar. I remembered too much, and I thought about them too much.

I would never forget him, at this rate.

I was addicted to him. It was such a fierce addiction that no matter how far away I ran, how long the duration of time, I would always eventually find my way back to the capital of Jehanna, just to see him.

I would give up everything for him.

His arm had snaked around my waist, holding me against him. I was pressed against him, the satin of his suit rubbing against the silk of my dress. The top of my head bumped against his chin. I could feel the warmth of his breath.

"Your highness…" I blushed incredulously. Joshua could hardly do this in a public event such as a royal ball! And…I was a stranger to him…how could he be this flippant about his affections? Wasn't Natasha still waiting for him or something?

He didn't reply, but pressed me closer to him. His long hair tickled my neck, and he rested his chin lightly on my head.

"Prince Joshua…this is…inappropriate…" I tried to conceal the growing flush across my face.

Impatiently, he pulled away and studied my blush closely for a minute, but he refused to let go of my hand. "Come on then, if it bothers you so," he replied, pulling me across the crowd to the private balcony. Quickly, he locked the French doors and pulled the curtains, giving us perfect privacy.

I stared at him with a little trepidation as I leant against the marble banister of the balconey. What did he intend to do? The last time I had been in such a situation, it was with Rennac, but that fellow just wanted a good dance to make of me. What did Joshua want?

The orchestra continued playing the same tune.

Joshua walked towards me.

I took a step back, nearly falling over the balcony in the process. Fortunately, he caught me, one hand around my waist and another supporting my back, just in time, while I had, in my shock and fear, latched one hand around his neck, with another hand grabbing his arm, just to stabilise myself.

"Are you hurt?" He asked. His eyes shone with compassion, kindness and something else I couldn't identify. If it had been three years ago, I would have been able to understand the emotions reflected in his eyes in a second, but now…I could only decipher the simplest of all emotions. All the rest where beyond me.

I shook my head, embarrassed that he had to see the clumsy side of me in our short period of interaction after three years.

But he had no intention of letting me go. Instead, he held on to me in that strangely comfortable position, catching my gaze through the holes of my mask.

I swallowed, but returned the favour steadily.

His eyes seemed to glow like twin embers, red like the most perfect rubies. The crimson hue in them seemed to burn and scorch my gaze, and I blinked, flustered, thereby breaking the connection.

The instant was all he needed.

His lips covered mine, his tongue swirling enticingly. As his teeth gently grazed my lower lip, I surrendered myself. After three years, this was sheer bliss. I had never ever imagined, in my dreams even, that I would be engaging in a passionate kiss with my ex-husband in the balcony of my former home.

He leaned in closer to deepen the kiss, but his nose knocked against my mask.

Instantly, I was alert once more, and my eyes grew wide as I took in my surroundings.

No, not good. Not good at all.

Struggling, I pushed Joshua away from me with all my strength and turned away, flustered. "Your highness!" I tried as hard as I could to regain any lost dignity and keep up appearances. Did he suspect me? "That was…pardon me, but very inappropriate. Darius would be furious."

I sneaked a peek back at his face, only to find him smirking in amusement. "Oh really? Should I not take offense first at him for pursuing my wife relentlessly?"

My tongue froze at the same time as all the blood in my veins screeched to a stop. I blinked at Joshua. "I-I-I wasn't aware you had a wife, your highness," I stuttered, trying to sound as surprised as I could.

"Oh really?" His smirk widened as he stared at me with an undecipherable expression. "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you, Marisa? Even with the mask, I'll still know it's you. We spent a year together as husband and wife, my dearest wife. And who else in Jehanna can summon Draupnir from Audhulma, besides you?" He leant forward and took my hand, brushing his lips gently over my knuckles.

"You-you're lying!" I retorted, trying to gain any ground against his argument. How the heck do you argue against a case of identity switch?

"You think so?" He sounded completely cool and unaffected. "Let's make a bet, shall we? Take off your mask and I'll fetch a mirror. If you are not Marisa, I'll…not come within ten miles of you in future."

I was silent, chewing over my lip and mulling over the events. Heck…why did I just have to play the heroine and kill the assassin? If I had let Joshua himself take care of that warrior, I could have gone unnoticed.

"Tell me Marisa." he patted my hand. "Why did you leave me three years ago?"

Not. Telling.

"You're not going to tell me?"

Yes.

"Want to make a bet with me?"

No.

"Can you say something?"

No.

"So you mean you had no grievances, no complaints, no heartaches, nothing, and you just left me like that for no reason at all just for fun?" His voice had gotten louder, and he was yelling. I prayed the glass was soundproof. He noticed me looking, "It's soundproof."

Good.

Silence.

"Well then if you hate me so much let me just tell you, Marisa, you accomplished your mission of making me suffer." His eyes flashed anger. "After you left I spent months looking for you. Entire MONTHS combing the area near the valley and the capital just looking for you amongst bunches of women that roamed the streets. But it was as though you were purposely avoiding me, and each time I set out, I returned with a heavier heart than before. And guess what, I waited for you, like the lovesick fool I was I waited for you. I though you would come back. One year, nothing. Two years, nothing. Three years, still nothing! Do you know how tortured I felt, Marisa, just staring at the ring you left on the table? Do you have any idea how much I wanted you to return to me? Do you have ANY inkling of the agony you put me through these three years?"

I couldn't stand it any longer. "Well then if you treasured me so much why did you go and have a bastard son behind my back with Natasha?"

"What?" He looked shocked. "Umm…son? Natasha? If I recall correctly I am currently single and my only kin is Mother."

"Don't deny it!"I snapped in a cold fury. "I know all about Henry!"

His eyes widened. "Henry? Oh you mean Harry!" He sighed. "That's Natasha's kid, not mine. She went and fell in love with this Renais dude under Ephraim's service named Kyle and the two of them had a kid in secret from Saint Latona-knows-what and she had troubles bringing up the kid so I kind of adopted him as a…foster-child? You know, use my money and bring him up. Kyle renamed him Henry by the way. Harry Vermillion Leonardo Kyle Finchley. Quite a mouthful if you think about it."

I continued glaring at him. "I don't believe you," I huffed stubbornly.

"Okay look," he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Firstly, Henry has green hair, like his father. Secondly, WHY would I lie about my own kids? I could like marry Natasha three years ago if I really wanted to. No, don't protest. If you are thinking about the letter, let me explain. I wrote the letter TWO DAYS after marrying you. Heck, TWO DAYS. I hadn't even gotten to know you yet. After I became attached to you, I stopped even looking for Natasha unless it was something important. If you recall, I spent most of my time with you after I finished my official duties."

I frowned. He made things sound so believable, but that could perhaps be the sign of a master at lying, not a true gesture of emotion. "I STILL don't believe you."

Joshua looked ready to tear his hair out, but he kept himself in check. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out something from beneath his white silk Oxford shirt. "Do you recognize this, Marisa?"

I paled. It was the ring that I left on the table three years ago. It was carefully polished, and there was not a single scratch on it. I reached out and touched the ring. It was still warm from his body heat.

"I wear this on my chain every single damned day, Marisa," he said. "I have been waiting for the past three years, praying every night that you would reappear in my life again so that I can put this ring on your finger again properly. I had no idea that I would be seeing you today, so you can't say that I did it just to swindle you out of your feelings again."

Staring at the ring, I traced the contours of the rubies embedded in the band of gold. "Do you mean everything that you just said?" I whispered softly. "Am I dreaming?"

He shook his head. "No, you're not dreaming. This is real. I am real. And I am asking you to come back to me."

"Come back to you?" I repeated quietly. Had I really been wrong about him? Everything that I so fervently believed to be evidence of his faithlessness were merely giant misunderstandings followed by gargantuan misconceptions and unfounded assumptions?

"Please…" He knelt down before I could say anything, removing the ring from the chain and holding it up between his fingers. "Marry me, Marisa. Say you'll marry me."

He looked…just like Saleh when he did that. It was the same hopeful look brimming with joy and understanding, the tender love and delicate affection shining in his eyes. Even though they were very different, but this moment…they were the same.

I could see he was serious. Just like Saleh had once been serious about taking care of me for the rest of his life.

Memories of my best friend were enough to bring the tears to my eyes. A tear flowed from the corner of my eye down to my chin, and dripped onto the ground.

Joshua saw the tear. "It's okay," he said despondently, going to pocket the ring. "I know it's a bit much to take and understand at one go. I-woah!"

I had catapulted myself on top of him, and since he had not been expecting me at all, both of us tumbled onto the ground.

"I'm not crying out of sadness, you fool!" I exclaimed, smiling as wide as I could at his dazed expression. "I mean yes, I will marry you!"

His face cleared, and a large grin rested where a frown had been. He patted my back. "Okay, so now you have to help me with this part," he grinned. "Do I put the ring on for you with the glove or without the glove? Or do I kiss you first, with or without the mask? Or do I go announce our happy news before we kiss before everyone else?"

I smacked him soundly on the shin. "Shut up," I smiled, stripping my hands free of the gloves. I could hardly even care that the pearl bracelet snapped and the pearls rolled all over the ground. "Put it on before I change my mind."

Joshua wasted no time in slipping the ring around my ring finger. It fitted perfectly, but before I had time to admire it he pulled me into another kiss.

This time, we pulled away only because we needed to breathe.

"I think I like it better when you don't have a mask," Joshua smirked, pulling the mask from my face. "There…now I can admire your beautiful profile to my heart's content."

I arched an eyebrow. "Why do I want to be shackled to you again by marriage? Care to remind me?"

He nodded eagerly. "That's because I'm handsome, charming, fluent, glib, sweet, macho, suave, debonair…" He listed an entire list of adjectives, none of which seemed to describe him well. "And because you love me."

I laughed. I believed the last reason.

Seems like love, the ultimate shackle of them all, had driven me back into Joshua's arms, even without a silly piece of paper governing our relationship.

Saint Latona save me.

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**Author's Note:**

**Yahhhh! It's OVAR! There's still the epilogue though, and it's a happy fluffy little thing to conclude everything. I just couldn't leave this way as a sad fic. The next one I write for JoshuaMarisa probably will be so depressing that I'll cry and ruin my space bar even more (which if everyone remembers was ruined by Free and Forever). Sigh.**

**School's reopened. I wanna die from the pressure.**

**Love snowylavendermist**


	33. Epilogue

**Shackled...yet again.**

**Epilogue to Shackles.**

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"And so Darius sends his greetings, and hopes that we will wish him luck in his endeavors to capture his latest sweetheart," Joshua summarized the long letter written in Darius' flowing script into one short sentence and dumped the letter aside. He tore open the next one. "Oh, L'Arachel wishes us congratulations, she complains that Oliver resembles the rogue in Rennac than the epic beauty in her and she wants to visit someday to thank you personally. She didn't mention about what though. Rennac asks if you can prepare a few trinkets for him to filch." He glared suspiciously at her. "What's that about?"

Marisa gave him an innocent, je-ne-sais-quoi look. "I don't know. Don't ask me."

"Fine, if you won't tell me, I'll ask Etain," he cooed. "Come on, little Etain, tell me what does Big Bad Wolfie Rennac want?"

She rubbed her bulging abdomen. "Ignore him, Etain. He's being annoying as usual. Don't learn from your daddy."

"Hey! That was mean!" He feigned a heartbroken look. "Etain, you must grow up and look like daddy and act like daddy too okay? Your mummy is off her rockers." After addressing his unborn daughter, he turned to her with narrowed eyes. "I demand compensation for your previous remark."

She gave him a smirk that rivaled his. "And what do you desire, O King Joshua of Jehanna?" She bit back a grin as she saw him shiver as a result of the sultry voice she had attempted.

"Okay, don't try that next time," he shuddered. "I don't like it."

She smacked him on his arm.

"I meant I don't like it if you use it on other people!" He protested vehemently. "Heck, I don't want you to use that tone on Rennac, that big bad wolfie would probably eat you up or something!"

She laughed. "Are you jealous?"

"Me?" He replied indignantly. "I'm the king of Jehanna! I'm never jealous of anybody!"

"Except your own son," she added slyly, laughing at his helpless expression.

"You give him more love than you give me," he pouted. "It's not fair."

"If the royal guards saw you, or your ministers, you do know that you'll never ever win their respect ever again, don't you?" she smiled.

"Ah, heck care about what they think," he continued pouting. "This face is for you and your eyes only. Come on, I've been doing it for so long, surely I deserve something as due reward."

"I'm not going to lean in just for you to claim your reward," she replied. "If you want it, come and get it."

"Alright!" Joshua leant in eagerly.

Just when he was about to steal a kiss from her lips, the door slammed open, revealing a red haired young boy of roughly four years old. A miniature silver crown was askew on his head, and he carried a large teddy bear, almost as large as he was, in his hands.

"Mummy! Daddy!" The boy leapt towards them and rested himself comfortably in Marisa's lap.

"Celansar!" She smiled. "Oof! You're getting a little heavy!"

Joshua sighed. "Why does this always happen?" He put on a stern fatherly face. "Celansar, what did I tell you about jumping on mummy? There is to be no jumping until your sister is born, didn't I tell you that yesterday?"

Celansar peered guiltily at his father's frown and then slid off Marisa's lap slowly, head lowered. "Sorry daddy. Sorry mummy."

Marisa waved Joshua aside. "Don't worry, Celansar. Come and sit here." She gestured at her lap. "You won't hurt me or Etain if you sit on my legs." She leant closer to his ear. "Your daddy's jealous that I am giving you so much of my love."

Celansar's magenta eyes sparkled. "Really?" he gave a snigger, which was a very good imitation of Joshua's.

Joshua looked ready to tear his hair out any minute. "Celansar, don't you have anything to do? Have you practiced sword fighting with Grandmama Ismaire yet?"

Celansar shook his head swiftly, and jumped off Marisa's lap. "Okay, daddy, I'll go practice sword fighting now. Bye daddy! Bye mommy!" He scampered off in a huff before Joshua could give him any more fatherly instructions. He turned back at the door. "Oh mummy? Quincy ate the leaves off the chrysanthemum plants again! I tried stopping him, but he didn't want to! Now Uncle Saleh won't have any flower in autumn!"

She arched an eyebrow. "It's okay, Celansar, that horse of yours eats everything, and it isn't as though this is the first time. We'll go and visit Uncle Saleh with a nice bunch of cherry blossoms tomorrow, okay? For autumn…we'll just have to ship a few more golden chrysanthemum buds from the royal nursery, don't we?"

"Okay!" Celansar looked pleased with himself. "Bye sissy!"

"He nicknamed Etain sissy?" Joshua cried incredulously. "Boy, that lad really…"

"Joshua," she scolded, wagging a finger at him. "You shouldn't be too strict with your kids. You always seem so stern around Celansar. I wouldn't be surprised if he's a little afraid of you."

He ignored her comment and leant in to kiss her soundly on the lips. "Neither did I think you were the kind to dote on your kids. You were so cold, so aloof, so distant and such a _femme fatale. _Until Celansar was born, and you practically melted like butter in an oven. Really, you spoil Celansar rotten sometimes." He sighed. "If you spoil them so much why can't you spoil me a bit too? You know, like indulge me a little as well." He smiled winsomely at her.

"How old are you, Joshua?" She returned the favour with a winsome smile of her own.

He looked confused. "Twenty-seven?"

"Exactly!" She responded swiftly. "Your kids are not even a quarter of your age, Joshua. To be jealous of them, for shame!"

He pouted again, folding his arms across his chest.

"Alright alright," she placated. "Now that Calensar is safely occupied in the East Wing with his grandmother, we can have some personal time together." She leant her head against his shoulder and gave him a quick peck along his jaw, avoiding the little stubbles that he had grown. "Haven't you been shaving?"

He nuzzled against her neck. "It's a little hard to shave when you're the king, you have tons of paperwork, you have a very attractive wife who is pregnant, and a little son who runs to you every second of the day." He grinned as she squirmed in his grasp, laughing breathily as his stubbles tickled her face. "Actually, I may be thinking of leaving them on permanently."

She glared at him. "Okay, if I help you shave your stubbles, will you agree to shaving?"

"Hmm…" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Make that an everyday thing and throw in a few kisses here and there and I may just be more clean-shaven, just for your sake."  
"Deal," she compromised, dragging his arm.

"Hey!" He complained. "I haven't admired the cherry blossoms enough yet! Where are you dragging me to?" He stood up reluctantly. "Man, you've grown stronger ever since I married you. Did you gain weight or something?"

She swung back with such speed that he was shocked. "What did you SAY?" she screeched in a manner that reminded him, not of his wife's usual demeanor, but of a harpy. She advanced towards him threateningly.

He backed away. "I meant you must have improved your skills with a sword." He broke out in cold sweat as she still advanced towards him menacingly, looking as though she had every intention to give him a nice bruise in the eye. "I mean that you are gorgeous, beautiful and no woman on earth can match up to you." She was still moving towards him. "You are the best wife ever! You make me weak in the kneecaps! I mean knees! You-Ouch!"

He doubled over as she gave him a solid kick to his shin. "Man, couldn't you hit lightly?"

She walked away as though nothing had happened. "I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom. A shave and a few kisses, you said?" She threw a sultry look at him, as though daring him to follow her.

He bit his lips as he watched his wife walk away steadily with a little sway in her stride which no doubt was all L'Arachel's fault.

Man, he did love being married.

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**Author's Note:**

**C'est fini! Finalement!**

**Haha, am very relieved indeed about completing this XD**

**Okay, am going to study hard soon, or rather, play hard IN SCHOOL.**

**Ciao!**

**Love, snowylavendermist**


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